


Distinct to my Instinct

by KateDabode



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Actor Tom Hiddleston, BBC, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, F/M, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, Major Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), References to Macbeth, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5963032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateDabode/pseuds/KateDabode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has a doctorate in English Literature from Oxford, she's gorgeous but blind to a mirror, and she's never had a boyfriend who hasn't cheated. Evangeline's life is boring, repetitive and perfectly reliable. She's stupidly successful in her field and her career, although that's not going anywhere, and she has a steady income. She's sexy, single and is about to experience a one hundred and eighty degree shift in her trajectory, and it's all his fault. Yet somehow, after twenty four years of knowing him, she still hasn't learnt...it's always him.</p>
<p>To say Thomas regrets how he treated her in their childhood would be the understatement of...forever. He's always loved her, has secretly always known it, and now she walks into his life, perfect as you please. She's got what every woman wants, is what every man wants, and by God, he wants her too. She's about to tilt his entire world on its axis and yet when that surprises him, he can only tell himself...it's always her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but characters that don't seem recognizable.  
> I hope you enjoy  
> Un-beta'd

1991- December 21st

It was 5 o’clock in the evening and a 10-year-old Thomas was being forced to do his reading. He had a whole two weeks home from school, and he was being forced to read four days before Christmas. He had only walked into the kitchen to find out what the delicious smell was, it had turned out to be roast dinner; his favourite in the winter months, but when he had walked towards to old agar, and his mother had caught him and thrust his reading book in his face. It was the Jungle Book, his father had recommended it to him as he loved the film, but now he was dreading the prospect of reading all three hundred and however many pages of the novel.

As he walked down the hallway to reach the living room, he was thinking about what he might be getting for Christmas. The Christmas tree was in one corner of the room, stretching high up into the ceiling and the mountain of presents beneath it enticed him to dream of the sound of ripping wrapping paper when he finally got the satisfaction of opening his present. He ambled into the living room to find it was not empty, as he as hoped, but sat with her nose pressed up to the screen of the television, was his younger sister Emma. He had completely forgotten his five year old sister had her friend round for tea today: Evie. Emma had been bouncing for weeks to have her closest little friend finally come round for tea, and his mother had specially made the family favourite for this new little girl.

But, he could see his sister- so where was Evie? She wasn’t sat with his sister, but the pair was almost inseparable, so she couldn’t have wandered far. As he went to sit down in the corner of the enormous sofa that was stationed in the centre of the wall facing the roaring fire, he noticed a little bundle sat reading a book. He hadn’t ever actually met his sister’s friend, but he knew all about her-his sister had caught the non-stop-talking bug that infected all children on their fifth birthday, and Emma’s favourite subject was her dear friend Evie. He had heard that she was a little girl with long gangly limbs, Emma’s exact description had been that “she looks like a giraffe, only she has a human nose I suppose”- his sister had always been a flatterer.

He could only make out the small body that sat there unmoving reading her book; she had a little body from what he could make out from the outline of the huge fur blanket she was snuggled under, and he could see her little stick like fingers clutching the pages of the book that had clearly been read over-and-over until the memories of the book held a longer tale than the pages themselves documented. He approached her from the side, his sister not even noticing him stalking towards her friend. Evie had sat in his place, and with his childish indignation, he wanted it back. Of course, it wasn’t as though she knew that, but she would soon.

ΩΩΩ

Evie had been invited round for dinner at Emma’s house, and she remembered squealing with delight. She had forgotten five minutes later though, she was only four, and she had just started school, she had her phonics to practice and her reading to do. With four older brothers, Evie got used to needing a little time to herself to do something quiet. She was always read a story before bed, but when she started school she was always too tired to wait for her father to walk up the stairs and read to her. In order to keep reading, Evie found she had to start reading for herself, and she had taught herself to read from listening and talking. Picture books had helped, and where admittedly her favourite, but now she also liked to read books without pictures sometimes. She couldn’t say some of the words, but she still knew what they meant.

When she had arrived earlier, she and Emma had talked non-stop for about two hours, well Emma had talked and Evie had half listened, she wasn’t used to trying to have her voice heard, she learnt more by listening, and her brothers making fools of themselves was always entertaining, even for a four-year-old who had an undeveloped sense of humour. She had brought her book with her, not particularly out of choice, more because she had left it in the car the night before, and was still holding it when she arrived, so she now had something to entertain herself with whilst Emma watched Sleeping Beauty. Evie did like the film, but Aurora didn’t have a lot to say, and Aurora was asleep for most of the film, so Evie found it a little boring, and selfish too, she was given her own film, and she couldn’t be bothered to par-take in it.

She had been cold quite early on in the film, and there had been the biggest most furry blanket she and ever seen just lying next to her, so she had pulled it up over herself, leaving only her hands and the book she read peeking out of the top. The light in the living room was only dim; she relied on the fire and the single hazy corner light to read her book. She was vaguely aware that someone had walked in, but the hero in her book had finally realized that he was in love with the woman he had known since before he could remember, since before his family had been torn apart, and he was about to start his long endeavour to find her once more. With all this drama in her book, she simply couldn’t pause to see who had walked in, that was until the light from the fire was blocked, and she stared up into a pair of blue eyes, not unlike the ones the hero in her book had.

Tom looked down at the nymph like features on the girls’ face and thought, for a girl, she looked odd; she had green eyes, the shade of green that reminded him of leaves that refused to fall in the winter seasons, they were a shade of green that foreshadowed the storm over the sea, and the gold flickering within them reminded him of the impurity if the sea, how it changed, how it moved. However, Evie’s hair didn’t strike him quite so much, chestnut locks, that was wavy and undulating, like a bush on her head, it wasn’t glossy, and it was so curly, it was hard to tell whether or not it was thick or not. Her skin was an olive tone, but freckles covered almost every spare inch of her skin. It looked as if she had a far darker skin tone than she actually did, it looked like she had a constant sun kissed look, and it was indescribably strange for a four-year-old girl. Her face was not typically round for a girl of her age- she already had the definition from the bone structure that usually occurred later in life, and she had a small nose that ended in delicately regal point. Overall, she looked like an elvish sovereign, but Tom knew that couldn’t be, so his face quickly took on a frown to try to hide his befuddlement.

Meanwhile, the ‘nymph’ like little girl was looking at the boy, with his full cheeks and bold eyes leant to him the regal appearance of a prince, but of course she just thought he looked like a ten-year-old boy, and he was looking at her far too much like her own brothers for her to be at all polite. The boy was looking down at her, and all of a sudden she could see the resemblance between him and Emma, she just had to make sure, so she reached out her petite hands and started to stretch towards his cheek. As she touched its smooth surface, Tom jumped, but refrained from moving back, he found the crease in her brow caused by her concentration funny. As Evie ran her hand over his jaw, she knew the boy could only be Emma’s older brother Tom, and so she gave an almost immpercievable nod, sat back down and turned away from him, shimmied herself further under her blanket, and went back to her book.

But for Tom, that simply wouldn’t do! He hadn’t got his space back, and she was just making herself even cosier than before, she was like a little lost puppy that had finally found a home. Stubborn and unrelinquishing, even if he hadn’t told her that she was sat in his exact space, she should have had the decency to read his mind and just simply know he wanted her to move. Of course, communication between a tired 10-year-old and a comfy 4-year-old was never going to be easy, especially when one had inadvertently displaced the other.

Tom tried to stare at the girl even harder, thinking that this would somehow make her magically move, she looked like a mythical being, so she should be able to communicate like one. When she didn’t move, Tom simply picked her up-blanket, book and body-and sat down beneath her, before rearranging her so she sat in the same place, simply on his lap. Evie didn’t physically weigh very much, but the weight of her stare bore down on him like the amazon floods. She was looking at him with that frown again, and he simply turned up his nose at her and started to read his own book, in response Evie simply burrowed further into the blanket, and subsequently into him, and went back to reading her own book.

It was at this point that Emma turned around from watching the Television and saw what had happened. This simply wouldn’t do, she thought, Evie was her friend, and Tom was always stealing her things from her. Well- Evie wasn’t going to be one of them. She had made Evie her friend all on her own, and she was perfect! She listened to everything Emma said and never interrupted, she played all of Emma’s games, and never made an objection (not that she was allowed to) and she never, ever left her at school, like everyone else had. Emma was a bubbly person, she could never knowingly hurt a thing, and she loved to have everything just so, but this seemed to put a lot of the other children off, but Evie had simply looked at her, made the smallest nodding gesture Emma had ever seen, and they had been inseparable ever since. Emma was not about to let her older brother take her away like that! Although, Evie did look awfully comfortable, and she did look so lost in her book, but Tom wasn’t going to be allowed to take her away- never!

So, Emma shouted possessively for the whole street to hear: “Evie is my friend, not yours Tom!”

Both Evie and Tom jumped at her shout, and Evie made an almost unheard whimper from the bellow. Tom, without thinking, gave her a little squeeze of comfort, before looking up at his sister and returning in a screech: “Well she was in my seat!”

“But she’s my friend so get off!”

“Well you weren’t paying attention to her!” Evie simply yawned and went back to her book as the two siblings continued to argue, arguing was a common occurrence in her house and so she was perfectly used to the idea of the ignoring an argument. The two carried on the uproar for a few more minutes before suddenly; an authoritive figure shadowed the doorway, and all three children turned to see who it was.

Diana Hiddleston was a beautiful woman, with calm and mothering nature to accompany it. Evie had loved her instantly, and had been besotted with the whole family so far, she had yet to meet James or Sarah, but they were both due back for dinner, so she would get to meet them soon enough. Diana stood in the doorway with a rolling pin in one hand and her other hand placed elegantly on her hip. It looked like a practiced action, and from the laughter brimming in her eyes, to an outsider, you could see the entire argument had simply amused her, rather than angered her, and she simply looked at all three of the children before turning away and singing: “Dinner is ready.”

Quick as a flash all three children bounded across the hallway and into the dining room, which was lit by a grand fire, illuminating the imposing figure of a man who looked no less than a king sat at the head of the table. To his left sat Tom, who was already eyeing up the delicious food piled on the table, and to his right sat a girl who looked to be around two years older than Tom. This must be Sarah, thought Evie. At the other end of the table sat Diana, and as Emma took her place next to Sarah, Evie took her place next to Tom. This seemed to suit everybody perfectly well, and as Tom was practically drooling he asked in a desperate voice of they could start. James looked down at Tom and simply rolled his eyes before he said in his warm Scottish accent: “I suppose.” And they all tucked into the meal with not a word spoken until they were halfway through the meal, and everyone broke off into their own conversations. Diana and James were talking about the Christmas plans and when they were going to visit his parents in Scotland, and Tom and Sarah were talking about the last time they went to Scotland and Emma had gotten wet in the pond in the garden. As Evie stabbed her fork into one of the roast potatoes, she felt a kick under the table, and saw that Emma was looking at her expectantly, almost as though she was supposed to do something. When she looked down, she saw that Emma had managed to polish off her entire meal, and was trying to tell her to hurry up. Emma wanted to finish her film, but she couldn’t until Evie was finished.

Evie quickly got the hint and polished off her dinner, and whilst her cheeks were still full of the food she had stuffed into them, she felt a tugging at her sleeve, she looked down from the chair to see Emma with an imploring look in her eyes. Evie’s mother had scolded her often when she didn’t have polite table manners so she looked up to Diana and asked; “Please may I get down from the table please?” She had to add in the extra please just to make sure she had asked as sweetly as possible. Diana turned to her with an ethereal smile before nodding her head and the pair scampered off with an excited gate back to the living room so Emma could watch her film and Evie could read her book.

ΩΩΩ

Later that evening around 7 o’clock, Evie’s’ mother, Anastasia, arrived to pick her up. Anastasia was a tall willowy woman with legs that went on for miles and a petite torso, her daughter had inherited the gene, and from the looks of it, already the gene was even more prominent.

Evie had limbs that were at least twice as large as they should have been for her petite figure, but she managed well, even if walking had taken her a concerningly long time to master. Anastasia had known Diana since their sons had attended the same school, and although Tom and Evie’s Brother Henry weren’t the best of friends they got on well enough, and their two mothers had been friends for nearly three years. When Diana had moved her family to Oxford, it had made sense for her to send all her children to The Dragon School, as opposed to sending Emma to a different school as the plan had originally been. As it happened, Anastasia had Evie, who was Emma’s age, and although the two girls had never met before going to school, they got on in their own way immediately. Evie’s father was an Army officer and he too was Scottish, whilst Anastasia was from Northern Ireland, meaning little Evie, by blood, was Scottish-Irish, but she had lived in England her whole life, and so she didn’t have an accent from either country.

Evie had been burrowed back in Tom’s corner when he had walked in after he had finished and he simply picked her up and placed her back in his lap, Emma had turned and opened her mouth to tell him what’s-what, when James had strolled in to sit down and read his paper, and Tom, in his childish antics, had simply stuck his tongue out at her.

That was how Diana found the children when she strolled in to tell Evie her mother was here to collect her, and the change in Evie had been instant and startling, and she bounded off and catapulted herself into her mother’s arms. Emma ran after her crying her name, not wanting her to leave, and Tom was left with a blanket strewn over him and an Evie’s book in his face. He took a moment to recover before he strolled through the kitchen to the back door to give Evie her book back.

As he walked towards mother and daughter, Tom saw that Evie’s eldest brother was there also, and he was looking as bored as any fifteen-year-old would in that situation. As Tom passed Evie the book he saw him sneer at his sister before making a snide comment about how she was ‘away with the fairies’. Tom felt a surge of protectiveness overcome him as Evie’s eyes filled with tears; she was only four and couldn’t be expected to know everything about everything. He could feel his anger brimming at the cruelty of the boys comment, and as Evie’s mother turned to scold him before turning to try and comfort Evie, Tom beat her to it, and reached his hands out to gently clasp her shoulders and turn her towards him. Evie looked up at him, and Tom tried to give her his warmest smile before gently squeezing her shoulders. He didn’t understand it, but he felt the moment resonate through him, this need to protect her, comfort her, and love her- it didn’t make sense, but he knew someday it would.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters you don't recognize  
> I hope you enjoy  
> Un-beta'd

Chapter 2- 1993 October 5th

Tom looked out the car window at the dismal rain and the patterns it carved on the window of his mother’s car. It was cold in the car, and it was cold in his heart. His parents were getting a divorce. The calm sanctuary of his home was being ripped apart because they couldn’t love each other anymore. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong, what sin he had committed what crime he had caused that meant the warmth and sanctuary of his picturesque childhood had been snatched from him. He had lost faith in his parents now, and he just wanted someone he could trust. He could never truly lose himself in the warmth of another’s embrace, their love was always hollow, always sympathetic, they are all so ‘understanding’ and they all ‘understood how hard this must be’. They all ‘knew what this must feel like’, but no-one would ever understood. He had just started Eton, it’s a prestigious school and they demand everything of you. For a young man who knows what all of himself is, the idea of applying that seems easy, but for  lost little boy who cannot understand the concept of love when its only true example had been taken from him, it was an ocean he was already a corpse in.

His mother and father had always argued, with his father’s strict rules and old-fashioned policies, his mother’s softer more artistic edge had been irritated by his severity, and so the arguments had grown until even waking up in the morning was wrong in some way. But they had always said, after every argument that things were going to be fine, that they still loved them all so much, that nothing was going to stop them from being happy. The truth in that never had run clear, and now more than ever Thomas felt dismayed, disheartened and completely alone. He needed someone to take his mind off it. This had changed him- he knew that. This was no way for a boy to learn the harsh reality of the bigger world, but the letter from his father explaining the situation had cut its wound, and the scare would loom over him forever. The damage had been done. His youth had been taken from him by the cruel hands of ‘fate’, and now this little boy had to learn to be a man the hard way, whether he liked it or not.

He knew he needed someone, anyone, who didn’t know or see or hear or feel his situation, and if they did, he needed them to not care or acknowledge it. He wanted everyone to treat him as though nothing had happened, as though the world was still the same. He had had enough of the pitying glances of the teachers and those offering ‘support’. Thomas needed the honest love he felt he no longer had from his parents.

In his childlike vulnerability he couldn’t understand that even though his father was leaving him to continue his work in Scotland, he would return in a heartbeat if he thought he could help, he didn’t understand that his mother was as unsure about the future as he was, that she was just as scared and had to worry about her three children now as well. The entire family had been capsized by this, and even Emma, who was only seven, knew that something cataclysmic had occurred.

When he arrived back at his home, he realized how the ivory wall of the interior seemed grey now, how the fires didn’t give off a warm glow, just a burning heat that left his fingers numb, he couldn’t find a respite, and for the first three days of his half term, the three children remained almost silent, and it became an almost ghost house for the inhabitants. No words were spoken in joy, Diana was busy trying to sort out the legal documents, and the three of them were left to reminisce on happier times with laughter and warmth.

ΩΩΩ

On the Tuesday morning, Emma was due to have a friend round, but Diana wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to have two seven-year-olds running around making noise and causing a fuss, but her youngest didn’t fully understand the situation, and she couldn’t leave Emma with this much grief at such a young age.  So when Evie arrived, she brought her book with her, and Emma just enjoyed the company, throughout the day the two elder siblings joined them, not to interact necessarily, but simply to enjoy Evie’s joyful, normal, and relatively calming influence, or as calm as any seven-year-old could be. She had grown, Tom realized, her head nearly reached his shoulders, and he was a tall teenager. For her age, she must be a giant! Although the upper half of her body was still relatively petite, her legs and arms were long, coltish and still leant her the strange look of a mystical creature. Her hair was thick now, still a chestnut brown, and her skin had developed even more freckles, where it possible, but her eyes had grown; now they were the colour of deep forest pools, the colour of springtime ferns, the colour of freshly cut grass, the colour of pond scum, the colour of autumn carrot tops, the green of the first spring leaves on a plum tree, sea green, mossy green flecked with the colour of pecan shell, as green as summertime water trough. In a way, it showed her soul had grown too, it had matured with her eyes, or perhaps her eyes had grown with her soul? She was no longer so spaced out of situations, she was still removed, but her and Emma worked in perfect harmony, and she had a calm, warm and happy demeanour that any child who had a normal upbringing would. They completed each other to create one persona, one perfect entity when combined. She and Emma were still at The Dragon School, and so far they were both excelling. Her father had retired from field duty, and now worked higher up in the military office. He had even been invited to meet the queen, Tom distinctly remember Evie buzzing about how she wanted to meet the princes too.

ΩΩΩ

As the evening approached the children all made their way downstairs, and the four of them snuggled under the huge fur blanket Tom had found Evie under nearly two years ago. There had been frequent visits to either house since then, and the children now all shared a siblingly bond, even though it was strikingly clear which child was not the offspring of the Hiddleston’s household. Both Evie and Tom seemed to gravitate towards that certain corner of the sofa, and so when Tom sat down, it was now almost automatic for Evie to curl up also on his lap and simply read or watch the television. Tom realized this was the affection he had craved. Evie didn’t realize she was giving him what he wanted, but her delicate form and fragility providing Tom with the warmth he needed had been exactly what he had been dreaming of. She was a pleasant, if small, weight on his legs, and he found that he forgot about his parents, his school, his life and almost everything else but the immediate moment in her accommodating presence.

When Diana came in Tom felt his muscles constrict, and all three children moved closer, however unwittingly, towards Evie. She was supporting them in her own little way. She was providing them with the normalcy they had all forgotten, and even though Sarah was fifteen, she too could appreciate the difference Evie was making. Although the children had assumed that it was time for Evie to leave, they got a pleasant surprise when Diana told them that instead, she wanted to know if Evie would like to stay for a sleepover. She could borrow some of Emma’s pyjamas and they were going to get a take-away anyway. When Evie practically jumped for joy, Diana caught the affirmative and hurried off to tell Evie’s mother that she would like to stay for the night.

That evening over the dinner table, the entire family played a game of ‘never have I ever’, adapted of course to suit Emma and Evie, and when Emma pronounced ‘never have I ever kissed my crush’, only Evie and Tom were left with their fingers up, but Emma made short work of that. “Tom, you fibber! I know you have kissed a girl! You kissed her on the cricket pitch! You kissed Kate! You love her! You even said you did! You said you loved Kate!” she screeched in such quick succession you could barely make out one word from the next. Tom’s cheeks went bright red and everyone but Tom and Emma burst into tears of laughter, Diana had only a second to raise her eyebrow in her sons’ direction before breaking off into peals of laughter, Sarah laughed so hard that her little brother had actually kissed someone, and Evie thought it was hysterical because Tom looked so much like her own brothers did after they had been caught stealing biscuits without asking. Emma, however, was having a staring showdown with Tom, who was imagining her head blowing off with an incoming missile, exactly as it would in James Bond or Indiana Jones. Emma was angry that Tom would lie, and Tom was angry that his seven-year-old sister knew he had kissed Kate under the cricket pavilion.

ΩΩΩ

After the dinner scandal and everyone had filled themselves up with ice-cream and biscuits, they all sat down to watch Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. It was one of Toms’ favourite childhood films, and he couldn’t sit still enough for Evie to sit comfortably on his lap, so instead she curled up next to Emma and Diana. As the movie ended Tom realized why he couldn’t get comfortable all the way through the film. Evie wasn’t curled up on his lap with her thumb in her mouth and her head resting on the arm of the sofa, like she normally was. He felt a strange emptiness that she should change the routine after nearly two years of the constancy. He supposed tomorrow when they woke up, he could just have to sit still for longer and see if she went back to sitting underneath the blanket again.

When it was time for bed, the four children all went to be in their own respective rooms. Emma and Evie in Emma’s double bed, a Christmas present from last year, Tom in his bed and Sarah in hers. Diana then went up the next flight of stairs to her own room to sleep alone. As the night fell over the house, no one lay asleep, and Emma and Evie soon found themselves traipsing to Toms’ room to see if he was asleep, when they found he wasn’t, they all curled up in his big bed and tried to sleep, but every time Tom nodded off, he would snore, and the two girls would fall into fits of laughter. It was a vicious circle that meant none of them got any sleep, and if Tom didn’t laugh about the situation then he knew he would cry. As Tom realized that being squished in the middle of the two girls was getting him no-where, as nice as it was to get to hold Evie close in sleep, to allow her warmth to flood him as he fell into dreams, he knew it was inevitable that it wouldn’t work, and they would never sleep. 

So, yet again, the two girls wandered down the corridor, this time with Tom in tow, until they reached Sarah’s room, and found her bed-side light on  whilst she read. As she saw the three children in her doorway, she knew exactly what to do, and she lead them up the flight of stairs to the master bedroom, where they found Diana in a tearful state, and so they all decided that as none of them would get to sleep in this state that Tom and Evie should go downstairs and make hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream for everybody, and then they would all go to sleep in the enormous bed in the master bedroom. They could top-and-tail if they didn’t fit.

ΩΩΩ

On the way down the stairs, Evie found that the usually friendly artefacts of the day turned into wicked shadows of the night, and she got spooked three or four times before Tom made the executive decision to carry her down the stairs. The first time she had spooked had been on the way down to the first floor, and she had gripped so hard on to Tom’s pyjama bottoms they nearly fell off. When Tom had turned to tell her off, he saw she was looking behind her with her thumb in her mouth and she was looking off up the stairs. Tom couldn’t stop his heart from going out to her, and instead he crouched down on the stairs in front of her so they were eye level, and he whispered: “Hey, it’s okay. There is nothing to be scared of; it’s exactly the same as it is in the day, just with a little less light. Don’t be scared, I’m here.” If it didn’t help her it certainly helped him, as when she turned back to face him as he spoke, her scared frown disappeared and in its place was a trusting look, one that made him feel like a real life Indiana Jones. By the time she had jumped for the third time though, Tom knew he had to do something about it and so now here he was carrying her down the stairs like some knight in shining armour, considering the support she was offering his whole family, he felt she deserved no less than a knight from some magical fairy-tale.

As he reached the kitchen and flicked the light on, however, her fear evaporated with the flick of the switch and she scrambled off to find the marshmallows, hot chocolate powder and the whipped cream. Tom walked over to the hob and set the milk of five mugs to boil before Evie came out of the cupboard covered in what looked like flour, she had managed to get it in her hair for heaven’s sake.

As Tom watched the milk he could see Evie eyeing the marshmallows out of the corner of his eye, and finally he gave in and whilst waiting for the milk to gently boil he turned to her and said: “Do you want one?” pointing towards the packet of mini marshmallows they always had a stash of for emergencies just like this one. When she nodded her head so hard she made herself dizzy, Tom nearly laughed but knew that she was too tired to handle the gentle teasing he could offer, so he simply pulled out a handful for them to share, and sat her up on the counter top so he could watch both her and the milk. When it was finally boiled, Tom poured it into the mugs with the chocolate powder and sprayed the canned whipped cream on top, before letting Evie sprinkle some of the marshmallows on top of the cream and then he placed them all on a tray and gave a couple of marshmallows to Evie, to distract herself with whilst walking up the flights of stairs in the dark, now he couldn’t physically comfort her.

Once they reached the master bedroom with little fuss, and only one scare, the entire family started to slowly sip at their hot chocolates. And that’s what they were, in their own way, a little family, all on their own, in this room, at this time, in this situation, drinking hot chocolate and just existing together, they were a family, or as close as any family could hope to be.

Once they had finished their hot chocolates and had a competition on who had the biggest cream beard, they all got into bed and warmed themselves under the duvet before Diana turned out the bed-side light and they all fell asleep and each into their own separate dream land. They made the perfect picture for a book about the counting song ‘roll over’ but with Tom in the middle with the four most currently important females in his life, Tom couldn’t imagine a better place to be, even if he was a little too cosy.

The next morning they all had pancakes for breakfast especially as it had been such a happy moment in such a dismal point in the Hiddleston home. When it was time for Evie to go home, although there was a sadness that she had to leave, she had given every one of them hope that there was an end to this grief, and that there would be happiness again one day.

When Tom returned to Eton, he did so with renewed spirit, and he threw himself at everything he did, he had a new hobby, acting, and he loved the singularity that his school life brought him. He even got to meet the princes, and it brought back memories of when Evie had spoken of how she wanted to meet the princes, maybe one day she would.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters you don't recognize  
> I hope you enjoy  
> Un-beta'd

1998- 3rd July

It was vast at Eton College. Evie didn’t realize it could have such huge grounds without her brothers talking about it constantly. She was a 12 year old girl now and with her mother religiously taking the family away to Africa to make sure she understood quite how privileged and luxurious a life she lived, Evie had seen some places of a monumental size. She didn’t really understand for a long time, but in recent years she begun to realize her mother’s point, but only on a sub-conscience level. She still thought her life could be completely unfair, but then again most girls nearing puberty do.

It was her first year at Wycombe Abbey School, a place she had set her heart on attending since Toms’ older sister Sarah had first showed off her house captain badge.  She admired Sarah immensely, and she was still taken with his sister Emma, the pair was inseparable! Even at this age, they knew they would take a bullet for each other. Evie hadn’t actually seen Tom in what felt like years, ever since he had started attending Eton 6 years ago, he was rarely home, and the opportunities given to the boys did make the price of education seem almost worth it. Tom had visited France for two weeks in his first year, and just last year his entire year had gone on a month and a half tour around America to ‘explore the culture’, because of course 18 year old boys are likely to care about the culture when there are toned, tanned, beautiful young American woman everywhere - practically a delicacy for the boys who are locked up at Eton.

Evie had only really seen Tom at parties, and she could feel him growing distant. But things had become very close between the four children since Toms’ father had moved back to Scotland, so they were still good friends; the distance just felt like a chasm because of the close relationship they had shared before.  She suddenly understood that he was much older than her, something that had seemed to highlight itself in recent years. Where before they had played all the same relative games: catch, hide and seek and tag, now Tom had grown, and so had his tastes; he no longer enjoyed playing with Evie and Emma. First Sarah had lost interest and then Tom had too. The two girls had found it upsetting at first, but they soon adapted, and it strengthened the girls’ relationship, so Evie could hardly complain.

Both Emma and Evie had managed to get into Wycombe, and although it was private, Evie’s mother and father could not send their four boys to Eton and not send their daughter to an equally prestigious school. Wycombe had been perfect for Evie, they had embraced her bookish nature, and they had inspired her to do great things, her ambition in life was simple; books, books and more books. She didn’t have the imagination to become an author though: Emma had the enviable gift of finding the most immense situation out of a little one, some people would say she made a mountain out of a molehill, but in her literature it meant Emma could pose a situation and make it tense when another author would leave it bare and boring.

Evie was far greater at discerning the most intricate detail in seconds, she could understand the mood of the writer; she could sense the situation of the characters as though she was truly there, and she could appreciate the great time and effort authors laid on single lines to create perfection on a page. In short, Emma did the writing, the creating, and the prose, and Evie did the reading. It had almost been predictable - well, it had been very predictable.

A similarity the girls shared was a love of sport, and that was what had brought them both to Eton. The girls had a tennis tournament and Eton was the only place with enough tennis courts to house all the girls from all the competing schools. There were a number of spare rooms; in fact all of the forth year’s rooms were free due to their trip to Iceland to celebrate the end of their GCSE courses. It also worked well for Eton to house the girls’ tennis tournament, as it gave the boys in the sixth form a chance to try out their planning skills, and so they were left to plan the entire event, and Tom being one of the main directors, he was just hoping it all went to plan.

Tom was so busy planning and organising, sorting and filing, that he almost didn’t remember to go and meet his own sister, which made Emma distraught. When the five girls, enough for four singles players, two double teams and a reserve, had walked into the courtyard at Eton, all the boys that were supposed to be going to lesson had stopped and stared. Girls weren’t a common occurrence at a prestigious all-boys boarding school, funnily enough, and so they stared as though they were seeing aliens. Evie had felt especially uncomfortable; she had grown into a beautiful young girl.  She didn’t feel it though; she was more lanky and gangly than all the other girls and she had hoped that her figure would even out with her torso, but it wasn’t to be. She still had legs that were twice as long as her torso, her mother had checked with a literal tape-measure, but that had initially meant trips to the doctors to ensure she didn’t have any growth problems. But she had come out with no issues, and so she was sent on her merry way. It was still a cause for concern, and Anastasia worried about her youngest, with four older brothers, Evie was her baby daughter, and she always said that no matter how big Evie got, she would always be her little girl. There was a vulnerability that Evie presented which many people picked up on, with her verdant eyes and chestnut hair; olive, freckled skin; coltish limbs; she looked the picture of a forest fairy. Perhaps that was why Evie had grown to love sports so much, it gave her a chance to show just how indelicate she was, and in tennis, the entire team knew she was the best. She hoped that soon almost everyone in the country, with schools coming from Durham all the way to Cornwall attending, would know too. Well, that was the plan anyway.

Evie forgot all about Tom, she had been mentally prepping herself _: I can do this_ , _I know Emma doesn’t believe completely, but I have to make her see, I have to make mother see that I am not her ‘delicate flower’. I am almost a teenager, and I want this to be my chance to show myself._ Consequently, she didn’t know how to react when she saw Tom striding out from the double doors in his Eton uniform to greet her professors.

In the immortal words of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: ‘It is not the father, or the mother, however that first discovers that the child has developed into a woman. That mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of all does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has awoken within her. There are few who cannot recall that day and remember the one little incident which heralded the dawn of a new life.’ That moment when Evie realized that she was no longer some innocent girl, and Tom no longer a boy, but now a man, was when Evie realized that she was far beyond hope of turning away from Tom without some dire consequences. Her childish fancies, as always, were bound to land her in a whole heap of trouble, or in the painful abyss of realization that your affection is unrequited.

Something in her stomach brushed its’ lining, it felt like the butterflies she had felt when she had had her first infatuation, but it seemed intensified, as though someone had released a swarm of them from the proverbial cage of romantic innocence, and she suddenly knew what it was like to feel a real emotion for someone of the less-fair sex. Evie was stunned for a few seconds at the thoughts passing through her head.

 

The fact that she felt this way for Tom, a boy she had known since before her memory began, and her best friend’s older brother, meant she was flustered and didn’t know what to say. He looked so strong, confident and courageous in his uniform, and he was flashing his most charming grin at her teacher. She stopped dead in her tracks, he looked like a man, and that was enough to make Evie’s heart flutter. She had been surrounded by strong, independent and authoritive men her entire life, her brothers were fiercely protective of her, and she was used to be being the younger, weaker sibling. When her mother and father looked at each other, he was her support in a cruel world of judgement and image, and she his key to the world of love and laughter. Evie knew for sure that the kind of man her father was for her mother was the kind of man she wanted for herself, and Tom charming her teacher and looking as independent as he did, she knew he was presently representing everything she had ever dreamt of in her girlish fantasies. Evie was so busy trying to not look at Tom that she hadn’t realized he had stopped to look at her. After greeting his sister with a quick hello, Tom had turned to look at her out of initial curiosity, but now he was finding it hard to look away. She had grown…again- this trick of astounding him with her height was getting old, and Tom was starting to feel as though she might eventually end up taller than him, heaven forbid, his sisters would never let him hear the end of it.

He looked at her more deeply again though and realized she had grown more intriguing. She was too young to be beautiful, or so he tried to tell himself, but he couldn’t deny her looks where enigmatic and fascinating, she honestly looked like a fairy, but not necessarily one from a children’s picture book, more like one from a Grimm’s fairy-tale. She looked as though the potential to be deadly was there, whilst the impending growth of greatness was also disguised behind her childish innocence. She was a woman ready to blossom, but really she was still just a girl. She had thick chestnut hair that curled at the end, with a sort of rebellious flick, somewhat like his own, but somehow more glossy and sleek, or perhaps it was because she was a girl, and having noticeable hair was alright for females. She had the delicate features regal lineages would normally possess, and she had a slight blush dusting the tip of her prominent cheekbones, making her glow, even if her body proportions made her look almost ill. Her untameable hair coupled with the slight breeze set the moment back to medieval time, and he felt like Henry V meeting Catherine of Valois for the first time, but the Shakespeare version of course, it was the only reason he knew who they were.

Tom had to say something to her or everyone was going to suspect something. “How are you Evie?” It wasn’t his best, but at this moment in time, Tom was just glad he had gotten any words out at all, his tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, encourage it to move.

“I am great and it’s good to see you… Tom you are always at school, in fact you are at school right now.” Evie’s voice was higher than normal, it usually had a harmonic, musical lilt to it, but not like it did then, she felt like one of those swooning princesses she had read all about, and she thought in her head it was disgusting. She had seen Emma fawn over her crush and secretly thought it set women back hundreds of year, back to when women’s only role was to have children and make dinner. She was often ridiculed for being feminine and delicate, and she was all too ready to shed the stereotype and start her own trend if needs be. Of course, for Evie, that was all relative, she had no way of actually growing her confidence to make an impression. She couldn’t even talk to her crush without blushing and her tongue turning to lead, how was she supposed to buck society’s conducts and re-write them herself?

Tom smiled back at Evie before a shout that startled everyone senseless rung out. It was Toms’ name, one of his friends, a very good-looking one at that, in fact the one Emma had had a crush on since she was 9, had called for him. They were both organizing the tennis tournament that was going to take place tomorrow, and he was jittery with nerves that it was all going to go horribly wrong.

Tom had experience with girls of this age; he had his younger sister and his practically-younger-sister to thank for that. He knew they could be a pain, were prone to tantrums, were very often stubborn, had a tendency to weasel their way out of situations, and they were very difficult to control. _Well_ , he thought, _what in the blazes could go wrong then?_ He knew the sick feeling of bile rising in his throat was at the thought of his house masters crossed arms, and folded brows, however, he was getting time off schoolwork to do this, he wasn’t about to let a little bile send him running back to Latin lessons, that’s for sure. Swallowing assuredly and nodding to Henry in reassurance, he turned back to the group.

“Do you want to follow me?” Tom looked to the teacher, and gestured towards the double doors on the other side of the Henry VI statue that was situated in the centre of the courtyard.

As the party moved away, Emma leaned into Evie’s ear to whisper: “Evie…its him! It’s really Henry, do I look alright, Evie did he…are you even listening to me!!!” Emma turned to look at Evie.

Evie had barely registered what her friend was saying; she was too busy looking at Tom talking to her teacher _._ She had to curb her growing obsession quickly, as quickly as it had occurred; she was determined to see it gone. Evie was pulled out of her mental chastising by Emma shaking her shoulders violently, causing her to turn her head too fast, and twisting her body brutally towards Emma’s’ exasperated gaze.

“Were you even listening, look… Its Henry and he’s talking to Tom, oh for god’s sake what if Tom has blabbed about me, Evie…Tom is so embarrassing, this is a disaster, he will never like me now!” Emma whined at her in hushed tones. Evie realized quite how pathetic she must have sounded, even if she had only ever admitted she liked Tom to herself. Evie turned to Emma to tell her exactly how she sounded, when she tripped on an uneven cobble stone and badly fell. She didn’t cry out but did show that she was in pain from the tear that managed to escape from the corner of her eye. As she looked up, Toms towering presence was the first thing she registered. She could see him looking at her with worry, but a mildly concealed amusement lit his eyes, Evie was infamous for being clumsy, there was a running joke that she may look the lady, but walking the graces of one was far from Evie’s repertoire. She had two left feet, and unfortunately for her, everyone knew it. She looked at Emma and when she registered they were both laughing at her, she couldn’t help but join in. If she didn’t laugh she was most certainly going to cry, so at this point her options were limited. There was a pain in her ankle, and it was swelling quickly, and as Henry and Tom both turned fully to look down on the little bundle now crumpled on the floor, limbs poking out at odd angles from the position she had fallen at, Tom looked at her teacher and there was an almost immpercievable communication between the two.

Madame Riviere was a severe looking woman; she used to be a professional ballet dancer, a sure explanation for her astute posture, and years of ballet on a live stage had conditioned her so that her glossy grey locks were held back in an unadorned bun closely kept to the back of her head, she was elegant and she had a long French background to compliment her. She was beautiful in her age and Madame Riviere was a woman who would accept no nonsense, not from anyone, rumour had it the headmistress was scared of her. Yet, even with all her severity that was quite frankly legendary at the Abbey, Evie had found a way to burrow her way into the lady’s heart, and with her clumsy footwork in the area of dance, Madame Riviere had quickly given up with the dancing side of her sports, and had simply accepted Evie for what she was: a clumsy girl on the cusp of being a beautiful young woman.

Tom had silently grasped the situation, and even Henry, who had only met Evie once or twice, knew of her tendency to fall over. Tom bent down, looked straight into Evie’s eyes and lifted the girl off the ground, considering how slight the girl was, Tom found her exceptionally heavy. He didn’t struggle, simply took a moment to adjust, whilst inspecting her ankle that had swollen to the point that it looked as through Evie may be visiting the hospital, before he carried her off to the nurses office.   
Evie must be as red as a tomato, and she knew that her only chance of redeeming herself in Tom’s eyes as more than a clumsy young youth was over, yet for some reason, this alternative was not as alarming as Evie thought it would be.

“You know, you really are an idiot Evie…or perhaps I should just start calling you Big-Foot, after all, you are tall enough, and from the amount of hair on your head, you are certainly hairy enough.” As Tom talked, Evie noticed the growth in background noise as boys filtered out from lessons, “Also, I wouldn’t say you would have trouble passing for a beast of that ilk, the amount of noise you make walking down the corridor. Shall I invest in lessons to try and make you half presentable, or perhaps I should just admit it to myself as everyone around you has, that you look and act like a giant, and the only thing good for you is to stay at home and read as you seem to do anyway hmm.” As they had walked through the corridor it had become more and more heavily populated with boys travelling from lesson to lesson, and Toms innocent teasing had turned from playful to almost spiteful by the end of his speech. Whereas when Tom had first started walking with Evie, she had burrowed her head into the crook of his neck to hide her blush, now she felt wounded by his statements. He had never openly mocked the way she looked before, she knew she looked different, but she hadn’t suspected him to so blatantly say it. Evie was still young and she didn’t realize that Tom had an image within Eton that he had to uphold, else he be ridiculed for fancying a little girl. 

Tom eventually noticed the snickering of the boys as he passed, the snide comments passed between boys acted like poison into a water system, once it was in the system, it infected everyone and anyone who drank it, and no doubt, this escapade would be swallowed down with a thirst of the millions. Unceremoniously, Tom dropped Evie to the floor, causing her to whimper in pain from the shock to her ankle. That should stop all the talk before it could trickle any further. At the action, all the boys quickly looked away, but not all ceased their whispering. Tom knew this, and without even thinking twice about Evie, turned to find Henry, as he walked off acknowledging he would get no peace tonight in his dormitory.

 Evie looked about her in the old and abandoned corridor, having been left by all the boys now running off so as not to miss next lessons. There were no bells to indicate the time, so the boys were just expected to know how and where to go, even the first years. Tom had never been so unfeeling towards Evie before, and she didn’t know what she had done wrong, she hadn’t meant to fall over, and she thought Tom had wanted to carry her; it wasn’t as though Madame Riviere had demanded he carry her anywhere, however, now she keenly felt how far apart her and Tom had grown.

There used to be a bond between the four siblings that had been unbreakable, but as with so many of these things, time had intervened and Evie now realized she may have to face losing a friend. The boy she once knew was no more, he was a grown man now. He was strong, independent and fiercely self-aware now, he wasn’t about to make public exceptions for her. She had a throbbing ankle to prove it.

As Evie looked to the end of the corridor, she saw an open office door, revealing a small desk inside. At the desk, a plump woman, aged in a motherly way, showed by the wrinkles in her face and around her eyes, and her salt-and-pepper hair, was bent over some sheets of paper on the desk.  She was writing furiously and muttering to herself, and as Evie watched she recognized the nurse’s uniform worn by the burse at her own school. Evie was lonely at school, and so to distract herself when Emma wasn’t around, she had taken to noting what people around her did.

Evie was grateful that Tom hadn’t just dumped her in any old corridor, at least she wouldn’t have to hobble far, she thought. She lifted her head to look for a ledge she could hold on to as an aid to lift herself up. As she reached for the console table which housed a light which she presumed was lit at night to guide the students around when it got dark, she tried to apply a small amount of pressure to the leg she had stumbled on, but as she did so, a pain shot up her leg like tiny crackles of lightening, causing her to cry out in alarm. At the call, the nurse raised her head to chastise any boys who were not at their lessons. As she saw the girl, the nurse was momentarily as shocked as all the rest, but then she remembered a few of the staff discussing the tennis tournament and an explanation formed in her head. The nurse noticed the little girls’ swollen ankle, and the grimace that painted the pain on her face.

“Are you alright, my dear?” The nurse called out to her as she watched the girl try, and fail, to move forward on her own, she rose out of her chair to reach Evie to help carry her into the office to examine her clearly swollen ankle.

Through her pain hazed thoughts, Evie surmised that that was a ridiculous question; anyone should be able to see she wasn’t alright; her ankle was the size of a bloody netball. She looked up into the hazel eyes of the nurse, and the comfort there relieved some of the mental pain. “I am quite well, apart from my ankle.” Evie proudly stuck out her swollen ankle, trying to forget the pain, whilst trying to remember her manners, and balance all at the same time. If she didn’t have a headache before, she did now.

“Well you had best come with me then to get that fixed up, hadn’t you?” The nurses warm voice soothed Evie and she understood why the woman made such a good nurse, if there was any extra pain the body had imagined, her voice washed it all away in a matter of moments. The pair hobbled back down the corridor to the nurse’s office before Evie was sat on the bed and her leg had had an ice pack applied before the nurse launched into questions. For example, what was the girl doing with a sprained ankle in the middle of the corridor, all alone?

“Well we were being shown into the school by a boy called Tom Hiddleston, he’s in his last year here, and…do you know him?” The nurse nodded her head with a knowing smile. Tom had been in that office more than any other student had, if it wasn’t a sprained wrist, then it was a gash on the knee, and if it wasn’t a gash on the knee then it was a nose bleed, and if it wasn’t…well, you get the picture. The nurse urged Evie to carry on. “I tripped on one of the cobble stones and I hurt my ankle as I fell, it began to swell, so he picked me up to carry me here, I have known him forever you see.” At this statement the nurse smiled whilst tilting her head for Evie to carry on. “And when all the other boys started to look and laugh, he simply dropped me on the floor and walked off.” Evie fought back tears at the memory, and left out the part about Tom’s teasing, she would prefer the woman didn’t know how Tom ridiculed her; in fact she didn’t really want anyone to know.

“Ah, my dear, you must understand that for a boy such as he, there is little certainty, and even less sincerity, he has known little of the consistency’s of life and the last thing a boy like Tom needs is to have the entire school laughing at him to cover up their pitiful jealousy. It isn’t very often we have girls here, and even fewer times are the boys allowed to actually interact as though they are just…boys. Things are strict here; you must know this from Wycombe. There is a long journey to adulthood ahead of all these boys, and the ridicule here will never be addressed. The teachers say it is the way of the real world, and they raise real boys here. The teachers are not here to play referee to the qualms of all the boys here, my dear. The boys learn quickly that there is little to be done when it comes to the cruel humour of a growing boy protecting his pride. There is a lot of testosterone housed here girl, and you had best learn fast that the real world will bite, if you don’t swipe first. It’s a dog eat dog world, and instinct drives out hearts, in a world where we work in parallels to nature even as we try to escape it, it’s survival of the fittest, and those that respond to change are the ones who will ultimately survive. Your friend has learnt he is one of millions and I fear you may be the reject of that. Don’t blame Tom for his rash actions, use this time to realize that life is cruel, and its only kind when you realize your life is what you make of it, don’t expect other people to respect you, if you have done nothing to deserve that respect.”

After what felt like one Shakespeare’s longest monologues, this one centred on the morality of growing up, Evie looked at the woman in bewilderment, and astonishment. Most of what the nurse had said had flown straight over Evie’s head, but she hoped one day it would all make sense. Tom had turned away from her to protect himself; Evie hoped that one day Tom would have the strength to protect them both, but she felt she may have to wait a long time for that.

Sure enough Evie didn’t compete in the competition, and she didn’t see Tom again either. He was ashamed of how he had unscrupulously dropped Evie literally on the stone floor, and wouldn’t forsake his pride long enough to see her again. Wycombe won, even without their star player, and when the coach rolled up to take the girls back to Wycombe, Evie caught a glimpse of a golden head of hair before it disappeared back into the gate of Eton College. Tom had unknowingly plummeted young impressionable Evie on a revelation, and she felt she had more than enough thoughts to digest. 

 

December 2005

 

As time passed, Tom began to drift farther and farther away from Evie. When he went off to university, Evie realized that he was still just a boy when he would come home with a bag full of washing and sometimes a girlfriend. Emma and Evie, when she was visiting, which was an increasing occurrence, took great delight in interrogating his girlfriends. Evie never mentioned the incident between her and Tom, and when Tom would bring his friends home, he would take great delight in ridiculing Evie. He never got away with mocking Emma, he knew she would tell their mother, but Evie didn’t have the confidence to tell on Tom, so she simply lived through his teasing along with his friends. The pair grew to have a mutual understanding, he could say whatever he wished to her, and she would never retaliate, but by 18 Evie had had enough.

 It was Emma’s 18th birthday party and Tom had brought his ‘gang’ with him. At 24, Tom was now at RASA, and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget that he was living his dream. Unfortunately that brought with it men who were arrogant asses, as Evie was discovering, and girls who would do anything to go out with a boy who went to Eton. His current girlfriend, Sarah, was 22 years old and she had taken one look at Evie and felt an instant surge of hate pass through her.

Evie was beautiful now, she wasn’t classically beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes, she was enigmatic, and striking, which made her different, unique in a way most girls could only dream of being. She wasn’t gifted with feminine curves though, she was all skin and bone, with a bit of muscle on her abdomen, thank god, from her exercising and rowing, which she had taken up to pass the time near the river in Wycombe.  She still had long, long legs and her torso was dwarfed by her limbs, but by now Evie had come to accept that. Tom was shocked when he had first seen her though, she was six foot tall, and stood just two inched below him. It was as striking as it was bizarre. It was considered wonderful to be tall, but Evie’s ill proportions meant she couldn’t find clothes that fit her, and she was forced to have them imported from America. She was taller than most men, and subsequently she had never had a boyfriend. Her height had made her self-conscious, and now she couldn’t talk to any boy her age without falling apart, at least men older than her had the experience not to be intimidated, but eighteen year old boys, as Evie had discovered at the delicate age of twelve, were prone to proving themselves as men, not adolescents, and often they would do so by hurting the ones who loved them most.

It was a form of rebellion, and the only way a boy could prove his masculinity. Tom had proved he was a man by insulting his entire family at some point or another, it showed he no longer felt he needed their guidance, and was smart enough to point out their errors in light of his own abilities. Arrogant ass! But Evie had known figured that quite quickly, and whereas before when they were younger, Tom and her would play well together, they now avoided each other with polite outer words, and seething, writhing bitterness inside- Tom laughed at Evie, and ran off like a coward before she could make her own clever retort. He and his friends were quickly turning into the bane of her existence, and she was about to give Tom a piece of her mind.

He and his friends, his pernicious girlfriend especially, had been pointing out the lack of her own boyfriend for the last three hours since the party began, and Evie had well and truly had enough, she was over the idea that Tom was the least bit attractive and couldn’t wait to be back at university without him. Emma and Evie had chosen different paths; Emma was studying the dramatic arts at Cambridge, the same university her brother had attended, whilst Evie was studying English literature with a focus on Tudor and Steward Literature, more commonly known as Shakespeare. Evie loved Shakespeare, and if you asked her to explain why she would fix you with a death glare for your audacity at not loving his masterpieces, and then launch into a 12 hour explanation as to why he should be knighted even though he had been dead for over 300 years. She knew different people were entitled to their own opinions, but that didn’t mean she had to think they were right, or even acknowledge them. It wasn’t necessarily one of her traits to tell others what she thought, but there were always exceptions, if she knew they were wrong, unlike some people, she would fluff it up slightly, to soften the blow to the persons ego, but she would tell them none the less, and Shakespeare was a topic that she would accept no other opinions on. When it came to Shakespeare, her opinions were her facts.

Anyway, Evie was outraged at Tom’s constant jibes. She had literally drug him out by his ear, much to the amusement of his friends, and the infuriation of his girlfriend, and taken him outside to show the ass that she wasn’t a little girl he could bully around anymore. She deserved more respect than she was being payed, and it was stopping, right now. She had been drinking a little more than usual, and the liquid courage was helping her to stride right over to him. Sarah, his girlfriend, had been whispering about her all night, and she had purposefully fabricated gossip to offend Evie as much as possible. Evie was awful at holding down alcohol, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t remember this in the morning, but seize the moment whilst the momentum was there. ‘Carpe Diem’ had never sounded so good to her alcohol addled brain; heaven knows Evie wouldn’t build up the courage to do this again.

Tonight wasn’t the only time Tom had been awful, it had started as soon as Evie first visited Tom at Eton, and from that moment on, Tom had found more and more cruel ways to make Evie hurt. First he had made snide, sideways comments about her appearance, how she was too thin, or too pale, or how she reminded him of E.T. with her alien looks. Then, as more issues surrounding her family had surfaced from the thin ice that Evie felt like she was suffocating under, Tom had found amusement in seemingly holding her head under until she drowned. It was common knowledge that Evie had been all but abandoned by her parents, and had been shipped off to boarding school the minute they could get rid of her. There was animosity between Evie and her father; she wasn’t as strong as her brothers, she had no interest in a ‘proper’ career, as her father had put it. Anyone who studied such an imbecilic course as English Literature had no hope of ever stabilizing themselves, if you were going to study fairy tales, then in her father’s eyes you were all but living them. Tom had thought it hysterical to remind Evie of this. How her brothers where so much better than her, how she was such a failure, how only a mother could love a beast, and she didn’t even have that. Evie had grown to accommodate the self-loathing that Tom had whipped up to surround her- it was inevitable. And so was her emotional pain threshold snapping, as it just had.

“You are the most conceited ass I have ever had to put up with, you are a clodpoll, nitwit, jerk, dick, swine, lout and every other foul thing under the sun- and I hate you. I am nice to you because you are my best friend’s brother, but believe me I have no qualms about slapping you right across the face in front of everyone if you don’t sort your shit out Thomas. I haven’t done a thing to you, and you are the singularly biggest dick I have ever met, and believe me, Oxford is full of arrogant bastards, but somehow, you have manged to top them all!” Evie launched a tirade of hate at him before he could even open his mouth to ask her what the hell this was all about. “You don’t care that you have hurt every single one of the people in this room that actually love you because your head is so far up your ass you can’t see. You may have a nice behind Tom, but believe me it’s not a hat, so stop using it as one. You talk some real shit, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you ass is jealous of the shit that comes out of your mouth most of the time. You know what Tom, most of the time I am jealous of all the people who have had the pleasure of not meeting you, and right now I wish I was born with more middle fingers so I could tell you exactly how I feel about you. Oh and also Tom, if you're going to be a smartass, first you have to be smart. Otherwise you're just an ass, but wait, we already knew that.”   
Evie knew she wouldn’t be able to handle whatever Tom bit back at her, so she turned and fled, leaving Tom shocked and bewildered that she even knew that language in the first place. She made her excuses about not feeling well, and caught a taxi home to her parent’s house before anyone could make the assumption that she was embarrassed about what she had said to Tom. Since she had gotten into Oxford, Evie had felt her confidence grow in herself, she may not be body confident, but she had excelled in classes, and this meant she was confident in her self-worth. When she chose texts to study, she did so with an enthusiasm that was inspiring, and she was often team leader when they were given research tasks to do. Oxford didn’t so much give out assignments as they did in other universities. If you went there, you were the best, and you were expected to do the work off your own back. You put the extra effort in, and if you didn’t know if you had done enough-you hadn’t. It was as simple as that. If you didn’t stress about not knowing enough for a lecture, or if you didn’t already know the basics of what the lecture was about, you hadn’t done enough research. You learnt pretty quickly that drinking and partying was what an outsider saw, not what an insider felt. It was hard work, and by the end of your undergraduate course, you knew you deserved your place.

Tom stood in shock as he watched Evie retreat, he couldn’t believe she had snapped after all these years, and wondered how he had missed the memo that she had suddenly grown a spine. Evie has always relied on Emma, she was a known wallflower, widely accepted as the mot socially awkward person in the room, in every room in fact, and she had never had the courage to face him off like that.

He could feel the regret instantly curl in his stomach, it had claws like a tiger, and it was shredding his insides to smithereens, its sharp teeth was clamping down on his heart, and he could feel a sweat breaking out on his brow. He knew what he was scared of, what he was scared he had finally done. If he had lost her, he knew he would follow her to the ends of the earth, he would hound Emma for every detail she could hand over - he just had to know she was safe.

Emma had just overlooked his prodding for years. He had badgered everyone for information about everyone ever since his father left. He had taken the role of protector directly upon himself. He wasn’t going to allow someone as close to them as his father had been; he knew his mother wouldn’t be able to handle another blow. He had always hated vulnerability, he was never the pack-leader at school, but everyone knew not to anger him. It was un-stated, yet implicitly implied. It surrounded him, if one where to take a closer look, it was there, in his drive, in his ambience.

Evie was the only person he had allowed close, but he didn’t like it. She made him vulnerable and weak, and he hated it. He wanted desperately to look after her, to love her – but his father had left him when he had allowed love in, and he wasn’t about to let her do the same.

 There was a method to his cruel altercations. He was testing her, how far could he push her until she snapped and abandoned Emma, what would she sacrifice for the siblingly bond the pair shared? If she was willing to forsake her happiness she could stay. Yet he knew now he had forced her to also forsake her pride, self-worth, and everything that made her her.

He had been ensnared by the small girl with the overlarge book, and as she grew, so did his utter adoration for her. He typically avoided women like her, simply because he couldn’t bear to look at them and think of her. It was sickening and pathetic, but these emotions weren’t logical, they couldn’t be reasoned away. His father had left for seemingly no reason, so he always had to have a reason, an unreasoned rejection had led to the breakdown of his family, he wasn’t about to let it happen again.  These feelings he had for her, they came from some place inside himself he couldn’t - wouldn’t, identify, they weren’t up for argument or discussion, they were instinctual and utterly crippling.

Yet beneath all the despair of finally losing her, chasing her off, and pushing her over the brink, he could feel the dark satisfaction that he would cling onto with a life-threatening desperation. If she wasn’t here, she couldn’t hurt them. If she didn’t exist outside of his mind, she couldn’t do the damage he knew she could. If she ever found out the depth of his emotion, he was certain there was no place in heaven, earth or hell she could hide, where he wouldn’t go searching for her affection in return.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters you don't recognize  
> I hope you enjoy  
> Un-beta'd

 

Some time close to the present

Here is the link for what Evie’s flat looks like:  http://www.homestyler.com/designprofile/b794e66b-ad58-404e-8eba-a9434a694ca4

 

 

Evie banged her head on the old wood desk and groaned. Why, Oh, Why did she let George have the papers for even an hour?

 

One day! One day she would learn that he was not to be trusted with anything valuable, he was even more inept than her and that was saying something. Evie looked up at the vast book shelves lining every single wall, crammed to their fullest capacity with the most rigid order she would ever know, and tried desperately not to let tears of pure exasperation fall from her eyes. What was wrong with her? Couldn’t she just learn that maybe George was junior on the team for a reason? Professor McClark would be back soon and there would be no end to his questions if her and George didn’t find the papers, and soon. Maybe she should take his advice, no matter how adverse she was to technology, if she had an electronic copy of that paper, all her problems would be solved.

 

Evie had done well for herself. She had excelled in her studies, and after discovering she had a true gift for analysis, she had carried on to do her doctorate at Oxford, and had graduated with flying colours, however, that had limited her options of a career. At 26, with no real previous job experience, she had been left with about three options of what to do with herself. She could become a lecturer, which filled her with dread, Evie knew she didn’t have the patience to deal with hung over undergraduates stumbling into the lecture hall and making their excuses whilst trying not to throw up all over her shoes. Thanks-but no thanks. Her second option was to become an actress/model. Evie had always loved the dramatical side of her degree. There truly was no better way to experience Shakespeare than the way it was intended to be told: on a stage and acted with all the passion that an actor could project. When she had broached the subject she thought her mother had burst a vein. It wasn’t a testimony to her intellectual talent, and there was no way her pride would let her be dragged down to fucking her way into Hollywood.

 

 She was just going to have to make her money the normal way, not in the limelight. So she had come to her final option. Oxford was running a research programme into the influences over Shakespeare, and the effect on his works. Now not that this hadn’t been conducted many times before, but the legitimacy of the results had been found questionable, and so the government had funded a programme to find unquestionable evidence for the physical and physiological influences that made Shakespeare the incredible literate he had been. They would also be investigating the legitimacy of whether all his work was his work, which was the second part of the project. Once they knew what had influenced the Bard, they could go about testing whether or not the plays where actually his or not. It was all very scientific if you asked Evie.

 

That meant trawling through every tiny piece of unquestionable evidence there was about Shakespeare, before they could even start connecting the dots. The entire team was about two years through the first part of the seven-year-long research programme, and George, the newest and most lovable addition to the team had lost all the notes that Evie had done on one of the love letters Shakespeare had exchanged between one of his many lovers. It was vital for the overview of his illegitimate relationships with other females outside of Shakespeare’s marriage, and it had taken them nearly six months to look over all the letters he had sent. By god - that man got around. You could only feel sorry for Anne Hathaway, but in the end, she got a pretty nice life in Stratford-upon-Avon- well for a woman of her social status at the time anyway.

 

George was unreliable when it came to keeping track of important papers, and when the head of research Professor McClark came back he would be furious at both of them. With George for initially losing the papers, and Evie for letting George have them in the first place. George was brilliant at in-the-moment revelations, but he never wrote anything down, so you had to be there to catch that incredible mind of his at work.

 

There were ten of them on the team in total, and Evie was considered one of the more senior people on the team, even if she was 28 years old. George was closest in age to her at 32, and the ages ranged all the way up to professor McClark, a Scottish born gentlemen, who still believed in the old ways of society, and was the darling of everybody’s hearts because he was so set in his ways, that even discussing the ideologies of new ways of society was asking for death by talking. In short, he was a short stocky man, with a balding head and piercing grey eyes that could burn you to the walls of a room if he so desired, you didn’t talk about modern conventions, and the expression ‘banter’ was a four letter word. One undergraduate had even put a _‘death to all those who say banter’_ on the student notice board…he didn’t last long.

 

He wore old fashioned spectacles and was still a man who thought himself far younger than he really was. Of the ten members of the team, Dr.Evie Winscott-Hunt, Mr. George Evans and Professor Allister McClark where the closest friends: Allister assumed the role of father, George the overprotective, but slightly mad older brother, and Evie the younger sister. With her four brother all in the RAF, Evie had been left alone in her family for her generation whilst they were all flying off to somewhere exotic in their fighter jets. She was so immensely proud, and it was a running joke that surely she must be an undercover agent, she had to be doing a service for her country seeing as all four of her older siblings were, and it was the only explanation for her seemingly far removed career.

 

 Evie was brought from her reverie by a loud bang in the background, and George looking at her with pleading eyes before the universities library doors where swung open to reveal the professor in the doorway. It would have been a comical sight to an outsider, a small man causing ten highly qualified people to immediately jump up and start working furiously over their respective desks. The command he had over them was amusing, yet Evie was more scared than any other at that moment in time.

 

“Dr.Winscott-Hunt, my office immediately!” Evie knew she was going to get it in the neck, all because George couldn’t look after a damned pile of papers. What was wrong with him? _Right_ , she thought angrily, _your Christmas present is organisational lessons George._ She unfolded her extensive legs from beneath her desk and adjusted the scarf around her neck before straightening her posture and skirt, and trudging towards her professor’s office. It was winter, so Evie was wearing her smart wellington boots. She only got away with them because her dress code was not exceptionally strict on Fridays. When there were more students about, or when there were visitors to the university, which was almost always, she had to wear something more smart than casual, but today she was wearing her black hunter wellington boots, with a green and blue tartan pattern knee-length skirt and tights, and a white scoop neck top with a similar patterned scarf. Evie was half Scottish; why not embrace her heritage through her clothes? She had the figure to wear whatever she wanted, why not embrace it.

 

 She knew she looked good, even if she didn’t have the curves she dreamed of, she could pretend couldn’t she? Her 30A chest wasn’t ideal for attracting attention, she was left to rely on other gifts to attract partners, but she was fine with that, and she was sort of glad, as she loved to run, and large breast would make it uncomfortable. She had run the London marathon just last year, and she had bragged about it for weeks, much to the annoyance of everyone in the office. She spent too much time around Emma to still be modest about achievements like that. She was past caring if people thought she was overly arrogant, she knew she wasn’t really, and in the end, the people that mattered knew that too. People made assumptions that were cruel to make themselves feel better. It wasn’t her fault she looked the way she did, it was just her genetic makeup, and no amount of surgery was going to change that. Evie wasn’t against modifying surgery at all, but she personally wouldn’t have it. The thought of it going wrong, outweighed what she didn’t like about herself, she didn’t even have her ears pierced, but that was probably because she wanted to prove to her brothers she wasn’t a typically feminine girl, obsessed with make-up and boys. Her pride had stopped her doing that, not her fear.

 

She closed the heavy oak door behind her as she walked into the office and saw McClark behind his desk with his head bent over one of her previous analysis pieces that had to be read over before it could be put towards the finished research piece. He looked up at her as he heard the old door creak as it gave a last jolt before closing behind Evie. He looked ready to shout at her and Evie internally braced herself for the onslaught of why she was still so incompetent even after nearly a year of dealing with George and his forgetfulness. She pushed herself up against the wooden door, even after knowing the man in front of her for nearly 8 years, she still feared his rants, and no-one ever enjoyed his anger fits, they were legendary, and since his last visit to Harvard, she estimated that probably applied internationally.

 

But as he opened his mouth, his brows furrowed and he looked at the chair in front of the desk as if to ask why Evie had chosen not to take a seat. He looked between her and the chair a number of times before Evie understood the implication and made her way over to the chair and sat with a slump before quickly realizing her error and straightening herself once more. Allister raised his eyebrow at her and tried to conceal a smile but failed, before emitting a light chuckle and saying:  
“Even after all this time, you still keep up your childish antics Evie…you really will never learn will you? What am I going to do with you? Now, I don’t think I need to tell you what an idiot you are for letting George look after your papers do I?” He looked at Evie with a scolding hint to his eyes, and she looked down with a blush to her cheeks.

 

She had known and admired the senior sat before her for nearly a decade, and it still wounded her pride to be chastised by him. He was her mentor, her father-figure and her confident. He had helped her when her life had had no direction, and had managed to pull a few strings to get her this position. She owed it to him to work her damned hardest in return.

 

 She would do anything he asked for her in return for being there when her own father had been taken away to America to sort out official business between the allied countries. Her parents hadn’t been in the country and her brothers had been gone, when her flat had been broken into. She had run upstairs; too scared to do anything as they raided her living room before waking up the neighbours and leaving with whatever they could get their hands on. She had sat in her closet shivering and dealing with the shock whilst the police had arrived and found her. She had been 21 at the time, and when they asked if there was anyone she could stay with whilst they checked her flat for any evidence she had been forced to say no. Emma was at university, and couldn’t look after her, her family where all out of the country, and she had no other friends whom she could live with for such a long period of time. At that point Allister had walked in as he had been called by her neighbours, and told of the situation. He was in his late sixties, early seventies and was a known widower. Evie’s neighbours were friends with him, and knew he had a soft spot for her. People had talked for years it seemed about how close the two of them where, even if the age gap would have made the relationship seem almost grotesque. When Allister had taken her into his own home whilst her own was being checked, he had told her about how his wife had died of cancer three years earlier, and how his own two daughters, now in their thirties, were both living abroad in Australia. She reminded him of his youngest daughter, and he had looked after her as a father would for the two weeks she had had no home to go to.

 

“Now, you understand that I have been in contact with a few of my colleagues recently, and there is an annual meeting next week in Scotland for all the professors to share notes. I have been allowed to take a plus one, but as you know, I have no-one to take, and I think it would benefit you to come with me. We will leave tomorrow out of Heathrow and we will be gone for Friday, Saturday and return on Sunday. I think you will find many people there highly interesting and your flight payments and accommodation will be covered by the committee. Any questions?” He said all this as though being invited to a highly prestigious committee meeting where anyone who was anyone in the English literature world would be present, was of little to no consequence, and all in his soft Scottish accent, which could make anything sound like a sonnet.

 

Evie was struck speechless - she didn’t know how to thank him enough for inviting her to come. She knew what was expected of her in this situation but she didn’t care, she ran around the side of his desk, her boots clomping, startling McClark from the reading he had returned to whilst awaiting her answer and threw her arms around him, showing him rather than telling him that she was more grateful than heaven itself.

 

“Thank you so much Allister, you have been ceaselessly kind to me, thank you so much.” Allister was normally not open to shows of affection, but this one he allowed himself to enjoy and he patted her on the back before pushing her away slightly to look at her briefly to make sure she wasn’t crying. She had a pathetic notion of crying whenever she got emotional. It irritated him to no end, but he supposed he would just have to live with it.

 

“Will professor Dobson is there? Will there be any authors? Will there be any other people like me who are there more for an introduction? Oh I can’t wait…thank you so much.” Evie rattled off her questions in quick succession, confusing both herself and McClark in the process.

 

“Evie, you will have to bring more formal wear for the evenings, and you will also have to make sure you bring some warmer clothes and sensible shoes as we may go on a walk, some of the women prefer to talk outdoors, and it can be quite stifling to sit inside for the entire weekend.”

He was talking to her like she was three, and didn’t know how to pack, as though she didn’t already know all of this. He went every year, and every year, Evie interrogated him ruthlessly for every detail. She loved the idea of being able to spend the whole weekend talking to people she had only admired from afar. She was excited and so ran off to get home early - she had to pack and wash, but before she could leave the room, McClark shouted: “Make sure you remember your toothbrush!” Evie simply chuckled to herself before she ran off to drive back to her flat to pack her bags.

 

Evie’s flat was on the top floor of a handsome period building, on a lovely little road in the centre of Oxford. Her new neighbours, seeing as she had quickly moved out of her flat when she had the money to do so, where a young family she sometimes had round for dinner. The man of the house was a fellow named Henry. Henry was an accountant and he wife, Serena, was an estate agent. Not the most common couple, but with Henrys Irish background and Serena’s Persian one, they were the most perfectly opposite couple in the world.  They had three daughters, all under the age of five, and Evie would sometimes watch them try and coerce the children in the morning for the school run looking stressed and exasperated, but when they all came home in the evening, the love in the family was palpable in the air.

 

Evie loved having the family round, as the joy and laughter that infected her when they were in her presence was an addictive drug, and Evie was intoxicated after her first taste. The family represented an ideal she had idolized since she could walk - working in normality to make a small, but joyful, life for her and her family. Evie didn’t have huge plans for the future, just to have a small family, well she actually wanted two girls and two boys, so not necessarily small, but she felt, with her current income being what it was, she might just be able to scrape through. The flat she lived in was mortgage free, due to buying her first flat well and predicting well the property market. She now lived in a lovely flat, one bedroom in the roof conversion of the old town house. The flat had been her project outside of work. The house itself was a striking period property that dated all the way back to 1886. It was in central north Oxford and the flats were arranged over four floors, hers being on the upper-most floor. The house had huge bay windows on every floor, so the room at the front and the rooms at the back were light and airy, whilst every spare inch was full of books or papers or resources or something relating to her work. Evie was a workaholic, but she was lucky that her job was actually quite a social one.

 

She slipped out of her boots and left them next to her old-fashioned chesterfield-style sofa. She had two enormous sofas on either side of the fireplace which was situated opposite the enormous bay windows. Due to the age of the house, all the rooms were vast and sprawling, with high arching ceilings, and an ambience of grandeur. The front door of the flat led straight into the living room, which spanned the entire front of the flat. She walked into the living room and was thrown to floor by the force of her two dogs bounding into her. She had two male Weimaraner puppies, well she didn’t - she was caring for them until Sophie from the ground floor flat got back tomorrow. One brown and the other grey, both were as lively as any puppy was. She had walked them this morning before she caught the bus to work. She had a car, but she preferred the bus, it wasn’t far and she liked watching people just go about their daily lives. She couldn’t do that if she was negotiating the busy Oxford roads. She realized it was starting to get dark, and that she would have to take the puppies out once more so they could do their business, Evie didn’t fancy picking up puppy poo come tomorrow morning. It was late October, and the days didn’t last very long anymore, so she went through the second door on the left into the kitchen, to warm herself up with a cup of tea, she was too excited to be hungry, and she normally ran off nervous energy anyway, so eating little for dinner was normal. Sometimes she just forgot to eat, she was so busy researching or rereading resources and evidence.

 

Evie moved from the kitchen into the dining room, which led on into her bedroom. The living room had two doors coming off of the left hand-side. The door furthest from the entrance led to the kitchen, and the one closest lead into the dining room. Between the dining room and the kitchen, there was a large connecting door too. The only way into her bedroom, however, was from a small door in the corner of the dining room. The bedroom took up the entirety of the back side of the flat, along with the en-suite. As she lived alone in the flat, Evie had no need for a second bedroom, and had no desire to waste the space by putting in another one.

She looked through her clothes and decided on two evening outfits, one was a maxi dress and the other knee length, and she packed those neatly into the bottom of her hold-all bag before she placed a pair of navy two inch heels in the bag too, to wear in the evening. She packed a pair of jeans a typical blue, and she packed her black flats in the bag too, she also packed a pair of knee-length riding style boots for tomorrow evening once they arrived should the occasion call for it. She would wear her wellingtons as it was due to rain both in London and even more so in Edinburgh, with her cream jeans and some form of over-sized jumper or poncho. She threw in her underwear, and some pastel coloured tops before throwing in her green tweed jacket and zipping up her bag.

She then walked through into the kitchen and threw her mahogany tresses up in a messy bun, before making herself a nice cup of herbal tea, to help clear her nose. No matter what medication Evie took, she couldn’t avoid the common cold; it latched onto her in late September or early October religiously, every single god damn year, and lingered until as late as February, to say winter was her least favourite season would be the understatement of the year. She was just sipping on her cup of tea when she realized that she had forgotten perhaps the most important thing whilst packing her bag…her toothbrush!

 

Evie met with Allister at the check in point at 4 o’clock the next day sharp, there flight was due to depart at 5:30, but the pair had decided they wanted dinner, neither of them particularly enjoyed plane food, and would prefer to just sip tea for the half-hour flight to Edinburgh. Evie was dressed in her trusty wellingtons again, and she was wearing beige jeans and a grey poncho over the top. She was comfortable and beautiful, and she didn’t even realize it.

 

People stopped and stared at her as she walked past, but as usual she was too busy making sure she was in the right place to notice that people stopped to marvel at her. When she saw Allister up ahead, she waved at him and strode forward with more purpose than before. Having dropped off her heavy bags, she was left with only her phone and her clutch as the pair made their way towards Costa Coffee. They sat and discussed who would be at the meeting and Allister told her that in the day he would have conferences to attend which she was welcome to sit and listen to all of Saturday morning and into the afternoon, and then on Saturday evening it was a dinner party held by the Scottish Earl and his wife who hosted the event. The Earl, in his youth, had been an avid reader, and still was, apparently he was determined to stay up to date with the current affairs of the literature world, and so he hosted this weekend for everyone to engage with one another, when usually oceans may separate them. The Earl and Countess lived in a castle with too many bedrooms to count and the grounds of the castle itself lead out onto moors that were as vast as they were beautiful.

Evie knew it was going to be a picturesque weekend, and Allister knew, that with all the people that the Earl invited, young men especially, he was going to be spending just as much time making sure she was safe as he was making sure he spoke to all the right people. Evie was his daughter for all intents and purposes, and so she was undeniably his responsibility. If as many people took notice of her at the conference as did at the airport, Allister McClark knew he was in for one hell of a weekend.

 

When Dr Winscott-Hunt departed the plane, she was nearly knocked over by the force of the winds. There was a terrible storm coming in from both the North and the West, meaning Edinburgh was plagued by one of the worst storms it had seen in years. It was dark outside and the stars were hidden behind the clouds, and Evie had to rub her arms to keep herself warm. The biting chill had wrapped its icy hands around her and was shaking her violently. It was teasing her spine, and making her teeth chatter amongst themselves. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and looked behind her to see Allister signalling her to move a little quicker to get out of the cold. She weaved her way through overweight businessmen to baggage claim, and picked both their bags up as she turned to see Allister arguing with some old lady about which way it was to the toilets. Honestly, if she was going to keep up the universities’ good name, she was going to have to keep a close eye on him.

With an amused sigh, Evie approached the arguing pair, and intervened. “I am sorry Miss, but what seems to be the issue?”

 

The lady stopped to look at Evie for a second, taken aback by the 6 foot English rose looking down on her with inviting green eyes, and a welcoming smile curling the corner of her mouth. She looked at the grumpy old man she had just been arguing with and back to the woman, and then back again. She didn’t know how they were related but she guessed they were, or else she wouldn’t have interrupted. “Yes, this man seems to  think he knows everything and was just correcting me when I wasn’t even talking to him, and he has decided to point out everything he feels is wrong with me, now unsurprisingly that annoyed me, so if you will excuse me I will just be on my way!”

As the woman stalked off, Evie look at Allister and raised her eyebrow, he simply returned the gesture, so she straightened to her full height and towered over him, bearing down on him like some archangel of justice. 

 

“Allister you shouldn’t attack old ladies like that, I know you have an evil image to uphold, but really, no-one here knows you so just try to shed the Beelzebub image for a little while, please?”

Allister sighed and grabbed his bag from Evie before walking through to find the taxi driver with their names on his board.

 

Allister and Evie were soon comfortable in the back of the taxi, and on their way to Glamis Castle. Evie found the entire reference to Macbeth, one of Shakespeare’s greatest plays, was accordingly ironic to the fact that an English literature consultation would be held there. 

When the taxi driver pulled up outside the castle, Evie saw the enormity of it was dazzling. They were some of the last to arrive and were taken straight to their rooms to drop off their bags before they were led back down to the large dining room.

 

The tables had been pushed to one side, and as Evie and Allister had already eaten, they decided that Allister would go around talking to the people he knew, and try and introduce Evie whilst he was at it. When Evie had walked in talking to her mentor, there had been a dull moment where the conversations of a few more concerned people had stopped to stare at her, but nothing more than that. Evie quickly realized that although there were many famous professors here, there were also a large number of film and art personalities present too. Those in the film and art industry who were interested in literature were invited, it added an air of importance to the event, and Evie knew she was dreading tomorrow evening now.

 

 There were people here who were as inexperienced as her, but none of them were from the literature world. There were a few noticeable names, one of them being Kenneth Branagh. Evie had grown up watching his adaption of a Midsummer Night’s Dream, and had coveted him ever since she had seen him as Henry V. He had given Evie her first taste of a visual representation of Shakespeare, whilst still staying true to the texts, and Evie was looking forward to possibly meeting him, but she wouldn’t be disappointed if she didn’t. They always say never meet your heroes.

 

As the evening drew on, Evie realized she was starting to get rather uncomfortable and so she decided that it would be best to take a walk around the castles floor, to cool down and to escape the claustrophobic feel of the stifling dining room. There had to be nearly two hundred people spread out on the floor, and no matter how grand the room was, there was no way that many people could be comfortable. She had seen others filter in and out of the room, and decided, as she didn’t know anyone here, her presence wouldn’t be sorely missed, so she quickly darted out of the room, and turned left down one of the stone floored corridors. She had had a chance to change into her riding-style boots earlier, so walking was now far more comfortable than it had been on the plane. Evie wandered down the corridors before she caught a brief glimpse of an open balcony window, just before the light evening breeze caressed the wisps of hair that had fallen out from her loose bun.

Evie moved towards the balcony doors, and saw the figure of a man; his back slightly slumped as he stared down at the valley below the castle. He was slightly shorter than Evie, and he had thinning, grey hair. From the back you couldn’t tell a thing about him, but he must have felt her approach because he turned around quickly, as though caught in some wicked act, and looked straight up into Evie’s face. Evie suddenly realized she had stumbled across Kenneth Branagh, _the_ Kenneth Branagh. She couldn’t quite believe it, and she could feel a small excitement bubble up somewhere, but not enough that she openly made an idiot out of herself, she was far too proud for that.

“Oh, hello there, did they send someone to find me?” he said jovially.

“Oh no, I just needed a breath of fresh air, and it’s so beautiful out here, I thought that I should go and explore, I am really very sorry for intruding. I will leave you in peace, again I am very sorry.”

Evie couldn’t believe what a fool she was making of herself, goodness; she wished the floor would just swallow her whole.

“Oh no my dear, its fine, it’s a little rude of me to be out here all alone whilst my host has invited me to celebrate with him. Regardless, I don’t recognize your face, and I am sure I wouldn’t forget one as pretty as yours.”

 

Evie felt herself blush slightly at the comment, which was unusual; she didn’t normally blush at flattery like that. Her beauty was breath-taking, yes, but it was a thick, brick wall - covered in ivy, and enchanted with an unbreakable spell. Men couldn’t see over it, round it, and they certainly had no hope of seeing through it, Evie had accepted her case was hopeless, and she thought there was no point in complaining, they do say beauty is a gift. Even if to her it felt like a punishing curse, no man looked at her for anything else, well except for Allister, but he thought her beauty was as much a curse as she did, he was constantly fighting off love-struck undergraduates who came to him asking for her number. You could hear him shouting at them from across Oxford, and more often than not, it was Evie who was left to console them. She could swear Allister did more harm than good 99% of the time. His intent was always clear; the execution however, was a little more…questionable.

 

“Well, that would be because I haven’t attended before, this is all new to me. I’ve come with Professor McClark, maybe you’ve heard of him?” At her comment, Kenneth’s’ eyes took on an ambience of amusement, and a chuckle was trying to weasel its way out from between his thin lips.

 

“Well, I have certainly heard him, it’s difficult not to, especially when he gets going, it’s the eighth wonder of the ancient world when he gets into one of his frenzy’s. However, the wonder could be interpreted as a positive or a negative.”  Evie had to admit, she couldn’t argue with the man, he made perfect logical sense to Evie, and Kenneth supposedly only met with Allister once a year, what you saw with Professor McClark was most certainly not what you got, he was in no ways small, in personality or in volume.

 

“Well, your deductions do seem perfectly sound to me, I cannot fault you. But tell me, do you only meet with Allister once a year, or are you secretly meeting up with him more often than is heard?” Evie couldn’t contain her curiosity, considering how long she had known Allister, there was still much of his life shrouded in mystery, and she was desperate to know it all.

 

“Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” He replied, “But to tell you the truth, I may be closer to Allister than you know, he is a charming man really, once you get past the alarming bravado and the overpowering arrogance. He’s a lovely man, and an even more loyal friend. Now I have told you some of how I know him, explain to me my dear, how you came about this man.”

 

“Well, I was originally one of his students but now I am working on his research project with him. I have known him for years now. I’m Dr Winscott-Hunt; by the way, I apologize for not introducing myself earlier.” Evie held out her hand, reluctant to tell him her first name in case Allister had blabbed about his constant battle with her over-zealous admirers.

 

“Oh, of course, he talks about you often, sorry I assumed you were another one of his daughters, I thought you were married and that’s why you didn’t share the name. I apologize; I’m Kenneth by the way, Kenneth Branagh. And it’s a pleasure to finally meet you; I sometimes have trouble shutting him up long enough to talk about something other than you.”

 

“Oh I see. No, I’m not his daughter, just a close friend, and I hope he has only said good things, I hate to think what he might have told you.” Evie replied.

 

The laughter returned full force to his eyes, and he gave her a knowing smile, as though he knew something she didn’t, it made Evie excited and scared all at the same time. Like a child in a sweet shop, not knowing what a delicious looking sweet was.

 

“Has Allister not mentioned why we correspond so much then?  I would have thought he had, considering your possible involvement.” Kenneth asked her, with a casual nonchalance that would have irritated Evie, where she not now so desperately interested.

 

“I haven’t heard anything from him, would you care to enlighten me.” Evie tried to hide her intrigue behind a wall of calm sophistication, but she knew she had failed, and that the edges of her act were cracking like plaster on a dampened wall.

 

“Well, as I am sure you know, it’s the anniversary of the great Bard soon, and the BBC has been in contact with me about making a series of some of his plays to broadcast over the next few seasons. I originally contacted Allister as I knew he was specialized in this area, and when I met up with him to discuss it, in all of the many meetings we have had, he has mentioned you. He thinks it would be a good idea for the project to explore how Shakespeare is experienced today, to try and get a representation of how the difference in audience would affect the difference in author. You are the youngest on the team, so he thinks you would be the best at communicating with not only the younger audience, but also with the actors, to see how they communicate with the texts themselves.”

 

Evie was struck dumb by all this new information. Allister had actually talked to Kenneth Branagh and not told her. He had possibly been in contact with the bloody BBC. He had decided to casually drop her name in there and suggest she go along and help. He had done all this, and not had a single day of bloody work.  She didn’t know if she was more shocked that he had managed to keep all this from her for so long, or whether she was more shocked because he obviously had some way of creating time outside of the laws of time, and had decided not to tell her how to make new time.

“I originally came to him because in order to get the most authenticity possible out of the texts, it would be great to have an actual expert there on set with us, to guide our directors and to help them grasp the full meaning of the subtext, to deliver to audiences to their fullest. He said he couldn’t personally do it, but he recommended you, come to think of it, he did say he might be able to bring you along.”

 

Evie spluttered momentarily at yet another onslaught of information, before pulling herself together and answering: “I would be honoured to help you Mr Branagh, truly, but I am not sure I even have the time to fully dedicate myself to this. You see, I am researching a lot on this project too, and it requires a lot of my time, and I couldn’t consciously only give you half my attention because I was so busy trying to sort out research too. I would love to, but I just don’t think I can.”

 

Kenneth looked crestfallen for a moment before looking her straight in the eye and gently turning her around as though to walk off the balcony. “I think, my dear, if what I have heard is true, you are too good an expert for me not to at least attempt to coerce Allister into lowering your workload a little. After all you could consider this another section of the project, a modern day interaction and the current influence of the written work, hey. Let’s go and have a little chat to Allister shall we.” 

Evie looked into Kenneth’s face as he moved her away from the balcony; it was set in hard determination, and solidly formed into contemplation. Although he was shorter than her, Evie was so narrow he could easily move her without much effort, and so she didn’t really have much choice but to follow him back to the main hall.

 

Half way back to the hall though, he came up short, and stopped to stare at her more pointedly than before. “What did you say your first name was again my dear?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t say, I only told you my last name.” Evie replied, looking over at him worriedly, maybe Allister had talked about her many would-ne suitors. Just when she had started to relax, he had to go and ask a difficult question.

 

“I was just wondering, you wouldn’t happen to know Tom Hiddleston on a personal level, would you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters that aren't recognizable  
> I hope you enjoy  
> Un-beta'd

Evie stopped dead in her tracks, fearful she may fall over, and the lead casket that had just clamped a vice around her heart, before punishingly beating it against her ribcage, was pumping out the awful truth and not providing her respite until she begged.

 

She hadn’t heard that name for years, and she had not until this very moment realized how much she had enjoyed not looking back over her shoulder to see if _he_ would appear - all muscular finesse, and smart mouthed insolence.  She hadn’t missed him one bit, if she was being entirely honest. She had an underlying feeling, however, he wasn’t about to allow her to go on with her life now some exciting opportunity had marched on in. That just wasn’t enough like Thomas, if there was a dramatic band walking straight into her life; he was bound to be the conductor, making sure all the musicians played the wrong notes, just to spite her hearing. And he would waste all that energy just for the satisfaction of seeing her weep - big fat tears of sorrow and hate.

 

For the last ten years, she had fled any room the minute she heard even the name Tom mentioned, she had made Emma swear over her grandmothers grave never to utter his name in her presence, much to her confusion, and whenever he came to Oxford to visit his parents, she made sure she was half the world away, relaxing on a beach somewhere in Miami, pretending to be on a university trip, lying to herself, convincing herself she wasn’t running away. She had dodged more parties than she cared to admit, and she was more a coward than she cared to admit too.

 

Because she was scared to talk to the boy who inhabited most of her childhood memories and scarred her with years-worth of emotional trauma; she was scared of the boy who reminded her of her parents utter rejection of her in comparison to her brothers; she was sacred of the boy who had indented what felt like her very soul with his childhood wickedness; Because she was terrified of the man he might have become. Because if he had that much power over her a decade ago, she was terrified to find out what sort of havoc he could wreak now.

 

“Um, perhaps,” Evie muttered her reply with a false laugh, trying, but failing, to cower behind a false bravado. “I haven’t seen him for years though, we never really talk, well, we never talk at all.”

 

Kenneth looked at her a little more closely at her now, she seemed uncomfortable and he couldn’t discern why. Tom had only mentioned her name once or twice, only in passing comment, and certainly nothing that would explain this response. Kenneth only remembered her because her last name was a little more unusual. “Well, he’s here this weekend, he’s one of the main actors the BBC have asked to participate in the series they are running, he wanted to see how the experts saw the texts or something like that. I just thought seeing as you said it was your first time, and it’s his first time, perhaps you could exchange opinions, you obviously know each other, maybe it would be good for you to reacquaint yourselves. If all goes to plan, you may end up talking a lot more than just this one conference, well, that’s what I hope anyway.” He ended his speech with a smile that reflected his inner hope. But Evie felt something akin to the polar opposite.

 

She knew, if she was given even half the opportunity, she would run all that way back to Oxford, no questions asked. Wind, Rain, Snow, Hail, Hurricane or Tsunami, nothing would stop her but that one look of hope in Kenneth’s eyes. As her hero, he hadn’t disappointed, and she was loathed to refuse him now. Evie was staring straight into the open arms of the biggest adventure of her life, a chance to work with the BBC on something she had always loved; a chance to do something outside books, which was still related to books. It was waiting to envelop her life in something so much bigger than the library at Balliol College.

 

Evie sucked in a breath as she saw Kenneth take a step closer as though to enquire as to her new found silence, and opened her mouth to speak: “I would be honoured to help you Kenneth, but as I said before, I really don’t think I can help you. I simply have too much extra work to do, and the course we are completing requires my full attention, I would be happy to recommend Mr. George Evans though, he is just as knowledgeable as I am, and would likely be far better suited to the task.” Of course, she didn’t mention he was likely to break the set, just the set on a whole, no specific part. He was likely to lose the script, numerous times, and he was likely to do a number of other things that were worthy of getting himself fired or mortally injured. For the sake of the college, Evie was still contemplating which one would be worse. She inwardly winced in sympathy for the crew that would be left to deal with him, but that was by far preferable to the alternative.

 

She couldn’t bring herself to face Tom. She was too much a mouse to say it out loud, but she would do anything and everything in her power to physically avoid him. She was far too worried to comprehend the notion that actions spoke louder than words.

 

“Well, my dear, I have yet to speak to Allister, and I would like to get along and do so, would you care to join me, I am sure we can smooth this matter out can’t we?” Kenneth then offered his arm in a gallant gesture, which she hastily took to support herself, even if he was a little shorter than her. The support was there for now. Heaven knew she was going to need it, she felt as though she was preparing for battle royale; the armies at war were the hearts and the heads of both her and Tom. It was going to be bloody battle, and victory was a non-negotiable option.

 

Tom kept to the shadows, talking to the few people that recognized him, whether from previous meetings or from his acting prowess, he didn’t care really. He was here because Ken had recommended he come along, and he had been itching to listen to some of the lectures being given and the papers being reviewed. He had heard of this conference before, and Ken always raved about it when he came back, yet so far, Tom was unimpressed. He didn’t realize the social niceties required. In his ‘job’ he was perfectly used to being a social character, mister-nice-guy, and a gallant gentleman. But bloody hell, the image was exhausting to keep up.

 

When his father had moved back to Scotland, he had become more reserved outside of those in the family, and he certainly struggled to implicitly smile at the stupidity of some of his co-workers. He wasn’t supposed to be here as Tom Hiddleston, actor and apparent heartthrob. No, this was the sort of place where he was just, him; Thomas Hiddleston, a reserved man of deadly underlying strength, and a temper to match. He had a method to help him keep his anger in check when he was shooting or doing press tours, but that wasn’t how he was normally. A public image really is just that, a frippery and an image. Reality was being hidden, and anyone who got too close was quickly made aware of the ‘abandon all hope he who enters’ sings pasted in bold and circled in the cold blood racing through his veins.

 

When he first approached his career in acting, he learnt very quickly that closing off your heart was the only way to survive. Acting is an all-encompassing job- you are still acting- even if it’s not in front of a camera. If there is someone who is likely to say something to someone, you put on your act.

 

So, he was sat here, irritated that he had to flip back to his false-face whenever someone looked his way. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. No-one here was supposed to bloody well care, they lived in books, and so when he wanted the book to close, they should have the common curtesy to oblige to his will and cease existing as he wished. He wasn’t overly fond of not getting his way, when he didn’t have to suck up to people.

 

Few people knew of quite how extensive Thomas’ acting seeped, he could name the people that knew on his right hand: his mother, his sisters, his father, and Kenneth. No-one else knew, because no-one else cared - or at least that’s what he thought.

 

He hadn’t forgotten that child from his past, that girl he used to know. God only knew he never would. If he could ensnare her, jut for one night, he would take back all he had said, yet every time he picked up that god damn phone to ring her, he couldn’t fight his pride or the crippling fear long enough to do so. He had made sure he was always aware of her address and phone number. He couldn’t bear to lose her properly. The last time he saw her, the night after their fight, he had regretted the longest six years of his entire life until he was sick down the toilet, but at the same time he had a black sense of reprieve. If she didn’t come near him, she couldn’t come close enough to hurt him. If she wasn’t a crucial part of his life, she couldn’t rip it apart – just like his father had.

 

Tom knew he had been all but in love with Evie since he was ten years old. That moment when she was curled up under the enormous blanket, in his spot, he had been snared, and she hadn’t let him go since. He had brooded over her, vented over her; he had dedicated, unwittingly, his entire life to her. And under no circumstances was she to ever find out.

 

He looked out across the crowd from his higher vantage point before he caught site of Kenneth walking through the doors. “Hell and the devil” he whispered to himself. Of all the people Kenneth could have found, he managed to find her. When he found himself here among people who might recognize him for all the wrong reasons, he thought he was going to be helping Kenneth sort out his own trials, yet it seemed fate was throwing him his own.

 

 As Evie reached the towering hall doorway, she paused, one slender hand rising to fiddle with some of the small wisps of chestnut hair that didn’t quite stretch into her bun. She turned her face to see if Ken had lost interest in her, and seeing that he was engaged with Allister, and she was momentarily free, she quickly turned the opposite direction to him and headed over towards the balcony coming off the hall. She disappeared out onto the balcony.

 

Thomas hadn’t had time to collect his thoughts before Evie had walked in and struck him speechless. She was truly breath-taking, no longer surrounded by the air of childish innocence that used to engulf her. She knew things now, understood certain delicate aspects that hadn’t been his to tell, but most certainly his to teach.

 

He knew, the way things between them had been left, as they had, would have festered and grown mangled, possibly beyond repair, but he was helpless to at least try. He was buying himself a heap of trouble- at the very least he was hoping for an argument, dear God, what a merciful outcome that would be, but her knew better than to hope. A decade ago she had stood in his back garden and told him in no uncertain terms all he had ever done to wrong her. Now he was going to be forced to grovel. He could feel his temper rising. This Tom, the real Tom, didn’t like this feeling of not being in control, he wasn’t accustomed to this state of mind, but nothing had ever been accustomed with her, why should he expect anything less?

 

However, to Tom’s mind, Evie Winscott-Hunt was family, his to protect. That much, in his mind at least, was unarguable.

 

Evie had managed to escape without a hint of detection. The other guests milling around the hall had all consumed enough alcohol by this time to stop noticing exactly who was who in their peripheral, whilst still being able to hold a perfectly comfortable conversation with those situated in their closer vicinity. It was perfect for Evie to disappear, and avoid the one person she didn’t want to walk into above all others. If Tom really was here, she would have to find out where he planned to be all weekend and ensure she avoided those areas at all costs. She didn’t want to run into him. She had settled all her feelings for him, and she didn’t need their object to arrogantly walk in and claim he had a right to talk down to her in his conceited nonchalance. She didn’t want him in her life, and he had made it perfectly clear he wanted her as far away from his as possible. She looked out across the lawns and just allowed her mind to engage in the dangerous habit of wondering. She didn’t usually permit such things when such people were on her mind, but his sudden reappearance in her life meant her normal rules had become slightly distorted.

 

She thought back to how everything had gone so wrong between them, what she should have done differently, what she would say if she did have to confront him. All these questions raced around her brain, in a contest to see who could give her a headache the fastest.  As she raised her long, delicate fingers to her temple to try and massage a knot forming there, she saw that the light streaming out from the hall had been blocked by a rather large shadow. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was; fate wouldn’t be so kind as to send anyone else directly into her path.

 

“Normally people are sociable at these things Evangeline, that’s the whole point, you scholars all gather up and discuss the same things you discussed last year, as though you expect history to change, don’t you?” How Thomas managed to get that whole sentence out whilst being in such close proximity to her, he didn’t know, but he had managed it, and he was loathed to end his sentence, but he had to make himself stop, or else he would tell her everything, and then he wouldn’t be able to afford letting her go.  She did something to his insides, something that was as pleasurable as it was sickening. He wasn’t sure whether her presence brought immense contentment, or the full feeling of claustrophobia, Tom wished he could truly convince himself of the latter.

 

“Well, most people at this convention aren’t stuck on a balcony with you, are they Thomas?” Tom had predicted right, he was going to have trouble keeping his temper in check if she wasn’t even going to try to be civil. He may be hopelessly, foolishly in love with her, but he wasn’t going to let her walk all over him.

 

“Most people aren’t mopping around outside looking thoroughly miserable, are they Evangeline?” Tom locked all his muscles to keep himself from shaking her. Her tone was scathing, as though she couldn’t bear to be near him. She hadn’t even turned in his direction; she was physically showing Tom to mind his business, and verbally implying he should throw himself off the balcony.

 

“Look Thomas, I don’t know why you are here, and quite frankly I don’t care, you made it abundantly clear for many years, may I remind you, that you didn’t want me anywhere near you, you wanted me gone from your life, so I did as you bid, yet for some reason, you have decided to march on in here and start a decades old argument. Let it go Thomas, I didn’t mean to be here at the same time as you, and I can only imagine you have very little desire to be here at the same time as me, so let’s be civil and agree to go our separate ways.”  As she had launched her tirade at him, she had turned to face him, her emerald eyes sparkling with a passion of either hatred or something immensely more sweet, he couldn’t tell in the light, and as she finished her speech she held her hand out to formalize the agreement.

 

Thomas looked down from her face to her hand, and then back up again, before taking a step closer, forcing her hand back down so they were now only inches apart. He could smell her - it was the sweetest thing he thought he had ever smelt. It was a gentle blend of the green tea she had drunk on the plane, and her natural aroma, which was akin to chamomile, it was fresh and sultry all at once, and it played havoc with his senses. He brought his face close to hers as he said: “I am trying to be civil Evie, but you are being short with me. I didn’t march in here and do anything. Believe me, if I had wanted to march in here, I would have come armed for battle, not whimsically prepared to face off the likes of you. It would be a take-no-prisoners assault, and you wouldn’t come out of it unscathed” His version of unscathed may involve infinitely more wicked acts than hers may, but standing so close to her meant the voice of reason had fled, and the howling of desire was screeching the bitter truth.

 

That certainly wasn’t what he had intended to say, but it had just sort of come out. She ignited some passion in him that he hadn’t felt mustered ever before. It was well on its way to being all-consuming, and not even heaven could help her when it engulfed him.

 

“Tom, Evie, we need to talk to you, it’s awfully good of you to have already introduced yourselves, but we have important things to discuss, come on before everyone else starts going off to bed, we may need to talk to some other people as well to properly organize things.” Evie heard Kenneth shout from somewhere behind Toms enormously broad frame.

 

She didn’t know when he had grown boulders for shoulders, or when he had filled out his six foot two frame, but it had made her insides twist and turn about themselves in the most glorious way, and this was the man she had sworn to avoid at all costs. He had pushed himself in close to her and she had managed to smell his intoxicating sent. It was sandalwood, and musk, and expensive cologne and entirely male. For a woman of six foot, finding a man who could make her feel so thoroughly female was inebriating and addictive. She had felt his presence behind her, that feeling of her nerves setting alight when he was near, as though her skin craved his touch, even from the small doses it could remember from when she was so young.

 

She was glad Kenneth had intervened when he had, she had a terrible notion she may have tilted her head up a fraction and pressed her lips against his thin, powerful ones. She blushed at the idea, and shook herself both physically and mentally. She didn’t know why her body was torturing her in this way, but she was finally starting to understand the concept that pain might just end up as a most climatic pleasure.

 

Thomas had grown out his beard, for a role most likely, and coupled with slightly longer than fashionable hair, she imagined running her hands through it all, to test how soft it was. His blue eyes struck any person who looked at them, especially against the auburn hue of his hair. He looked somewhat like he must have done when he played Henry V, she had been forced to watch that by her own stubborn pride. She couldn’t resist not watching the Shakespeare adaption, and it was easy enough for her to imagine it wasn’t Tom then. It certainly wasn’t now.

 

When he turned from her to walk inside, he fixed her with one last heated look that sent her insides quivering, before stalking inside.  Evie followed him inside, reluctant to hear what Kenneth and Allister had planned, and provide oil for the flames that were raging over her skin. He was a predator, and she knew she was the prey, but what worried her, was that she wasn’t sure she was as scared as she should be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters that aren't recognizable  
> I hope you enjoy  
> Un-beta'd

“Ah, Evie, there you are.” Allister said in a relieved tone. There were very many strapping young men here, and Allister didn’t trust any of them, not one around Evie. Least of all did he trust the brooding and darkly atmospheric man who she had approached with.

 

He wanted knew Evie deserved love in her life. It was a simple fact. On a day-to-day basis she probably spent around twelve hours in the library, searching and scanning, finding and noting. She didn’t stop, hadn’t stopped for over ten years when she started as an undergraduate, and if she didn’t find herself a man soon, he knew she wasn’t going to. She had tried valiantly to find an interest in something other than books. She knew as well as he did that her obsession was bordering on dangerous. Even when she ran, she did so to the audios of Shakespeare’s plays, she made up some nonsense that she found the prose and literature exhilarating and motivating – Allister wasn’t so sure. 

 

In his mind, Allister pictured some meek lawyer from London coming in a swooping Evie up, preferably relocating to Oxford for her, so she could stay and complete the project, and then she would have a gentleman who could care and love for her. Yet this male she had just walked in with, this giant of a man, with broad shoulders and a broader presence, was as far from that ideal as he could imagine. He had an almost dark charisma, which was strange considering his public image, and a stern look on his face. He would have physically removed Evie if he could have, but the look that had passed over her face as she emerged from the balcony with Thomas told a very telling tale, she had looked flustered and in deep contemplation, and for once in her life, she wasn’t thinking about books. No relationship had ever done that to her before. No man had ever so thoroughly consumed her attention, and he couldn’t tell if it was something he should nurture or starve. She looked at him in complete awe, in a way a woman should look at a man, yet Thomas had yet to acknowledge her presence in his presence, and if it continued, he would squash Evie’s apparent admiration of Tom before she ended up getting seriously hurt. Little did he know, he was decades too late to stop he pain at the hand of Thomas.

 

“I was beginning to worry. Now, Kenneth and I have been discussing matters and logistics and timings and schedules” Evie cowered behind Tom, moving almost indistinguishably behind him, him being her innate shield to things she didn’t like, Allister continued as though he hadn’t noticed, however “and I gave made the executive decision that you are the best mentally equipped candidate, and I personally feel it would be a good stimulation for you too Evie. You haven’t left the library in what feels like years. There is an unstated but perfectly obvious need for you to get out, and this is the perfect opportunity.”

 

Before Evie could even begin to comprehend what Allister had said, she was dealing with her self-irritation. Why had she moved behind him in the face of fear, the person whom she had feared going even remotely close to for all of her adolescence? Was it his sudden authority, the austere aura he was giving out, was she simply hiding behind the largest obstacle for Allister to get around? Evie fancied that she could convince herself of the latter, and so diligently set to work repeating it over and over ion her head, to ingrain it into her head. She wasn’t turning to Thomas for comfort – he was merely as large as a brick wall, and was as impenetrable, so it was natural for her to hide behind him.

 

Tom had noticed her minute movement too, even if Kenneth was only watching the scene from a distracted viewpoint, having apparently found another conversation of interest for the interval of a few seconds both Tom and Evie contemplated her actions. He felt a small lightness in his chest, it was small and painfully fleeting, but Tom wouldn’t deny it had been there. He wanted to wrap Evie up, keep her warm - keep her safe – keep her with him. It was past rational, and these thoughts were triggered by the smallest of actions. He felt self-loathing start to build and pressure his insides as he thought over her, and all she was to him. He had noticed her movement, and he wasn’t about to disregard it. If there was any hope, even the smallest hope, that she felt even an ounce of the feelings he had for her, he would play them until the cards where all lain bare, and he held in his hands the winnings, preferably that would consist of her and a future together.

 

As Evie tried with a failing bravado to convince herself of her reasoning for moving towards Tom, she suddenly realized what Allister had said. He had made the executive decision, as in, she had no choice, and she would there fire be sending her to spend many hours a day on some blustery film set – with tom? Was he out of his mind, didn’t he realize how awkward circumstances were between her and Thomas? Of course he didn’t, she hadn’t told him, and she wasn’t about to divulge that weakness to him, Allister knew more about her than her own father, but there were certain things that needed to be kept for herself. No-one need know about how tom had treated her, where the sense in that? Those were scars that she wasn’t going to go parading to anyone, they ran deep into her heart, they had opened her eyes to her failure in her parents eyes, and she wasn’t ready to face how deep those cuts went, she was scared she would find they went all the way through, and she wasn’t prepared to find out what awaited her on the other side.

 

“But, Allister, I am needed in the team, can’t you understand, I can’t just come away.” Her eyes implored him and her body language showed her obvious distress at the prospect, but Allister had made his decision, and she was going to have to grow up and deal with it. The fact that Evie had so naturally gravitated towards Tom as he told her those things she didn’t want to hear sent alarms going off in his head. Evie had no reason to not want to do this. The only thing stopping her would be someone that would put her through misery, or someone who perceived would do that to her. He knew she and Thomas had a far further connection that met the eye. Evie needed to man up, and this Tom, as he had figured out quickly from the description Kenneth had quickly supplied earlier in the conversation, obviously needed to sort out this dark feeling that lingered around him, it was in need of a gentle hand to soothe it away. Allister was under no illusions who he thought that should be.

 

As the conversation circled back to a topic he was interested in, Kenneth was brought back to the conversation. “Evie, you really must, there is a crying need on set, and I would like to work alongside you, it will be amazing. Come on, just give it a go.” Kenneth looked at her with a sort of happy glow, and Allister gave her a look that told her she did this or she died. Evie felt like a trapped dog in cage, open up to the scrutiny of the many people surveying her. The only person left to contribute was Tom, and she thanked all that was glorious that he hadn’t contributed his opinion, she couldn’t rely on her reactions to him anymore, she had lost all faith in her response when it came to him.

 

But of course, fate was determined to have the last laugh.

 

“Maybe Evie shouldn’t do it; if she doesn’t want to I am sure we can find someone else to do it.” Tom was goading her, and they both knew it. She tried valiantly to not respond, to just breath out a serene smile and polity agree with tom, but the scared dog had been released from its cage, and it was bolting for revenge. Evie has spent her entire adolescence lying down and just taking the verbal beating Thomas assaulted her with, she felt fury rise in her throat that he would try to subdue her in such a way again.  She wasn’t about to back down this time, clearly he hadn’t learnt his lesson the first time around.

 

“Actually, I would be delighted to help you, I am sure George can cover for my work, I will pack as soon as  I get back, and be on set as soon as you need me Kenneth.” Evie replied with an expertly crafted grin, intended to annoy Tom to his limits.

 

“Well, we have had a few re-jigs of the schedule, so it turns out we will probably need you in a fortnight, does that work?”

 

“Sounds perfect Kenneth, thank you for the opportunity.”  As she spoke, she leant forward to kiss him on both cheeks by way of a subtle dismissal, and turned to return Allister’s knowing stare, amusement lighting the pupils of his eyes.

 

As she turned to Thomas, there was an insipid humour to his eyes, triumphant and sarcastic. It irritated her, and with a turn and a flourish Evie walked through the crowd, it naturally parting to make way in the face of her beauty and elegance.

 

As he watched her leave, Thomas barely contained his joy. He had purposefully goaded her and got all the right results. He had the rest of his time shooting these films to woo her, to make her fall in love with him, as desperately as he was rapidly falling for her. He had his work cut out, and he would get no thanks, and he was already laying foundations for the wall to guard him against her rejection. He would succeed, he made a vow, the alternative, for him was too much to handle. Kenneth and Allister had resumed their conversation, and Tom slunk back into the shadows, content to watch Evie talk to some final people, before ordering for a tea to be sent to her rooms to drink before bed. She always used to have tea before bed, he remembered that she took it with milk and no sugar, that she would try any herbal tea going, and that coffee gave her awful stomach cramps. He knew she was going to bed know because she wouldn’t want to be one of the last to bed, she wouldn’t want to be alone in the dimmed lights of the corridor, their brightness lowering to allow the guests to sleep. He remembered this, and he wondered, did she ever remember the same about him?

 

He would make sure to ask her, when he saw her again in two weeks’ time.

 

The rest of the weekend went as smooth as sea in the Mediterranean, calm, uneventful and peaceful as you please.  Yet just like the tropical oceans, it could whip up a storm of such cosmic proportions, one forgot entirely that calm was even an emotion, and not some pitiful poetic perception.

 

Evie had avoided Tom, or told herself she had anyway. She hadn’t looked to see if he was there first thing on Saturday morning, and felt a spark start a fire throughout her veins when he looked back; she told herself she hadn’t spent both Friday and Saturday night tossing and turning in the delightfully soft bed, thinking of him, and how he had changed; she told herself that she didn’t ensure she knew whether he was going on the afternoon stroll around the grounds; and she most certainly didn’t feel a pang when she flew home on Sunday evening without sharing another word with him.

 

There had been plenty of heated looks, mostly from across the room, when either of them openly flirted with someone else. Evie had felt a jealousy come over her. She hated the acidic feeling that filled her stomach, and she hated how she wanted him to stop. She knew she was being fickle and spoilt. She didn’t want him flirting with other women, but whenever she thought he was coming her way, she suddenly found something incredibly interesting in some other room. She had managed to find a riveting interest in the broom cupboard on Saturday evening.

 

 It had been the formal presentations that evening, Tom was wearing a suit, and Evie had been wearing a simple floor length grey gown. She and Tom had been forced to stand side-by-side through a gruelling conversation between Allister and Kenneth; both of them had stood awkwardly next to each other, every now and again brushing each other, sending little spasms up her arms and throughout her whole body, finally centring on that place a woman shouldn’t speak of. It made her weak, and she felt frail and delicate, and they hadn’t even made skin-to-skin contact. It made her wonder if she dreaded such contact, or whether she felt starved for it.

 

When the conversation had allowed for them to take their leave of their older companions and mingle, both had moved away as fast as they could. Evie left to entertain the advances of a few men that she had flirted with the night before, and throughout the day, and if Tom hadn’t turned up with his judgemental glances, and his infuriating potency, she would have seriously considered taking to bed.

 

Alas, Thomas had come, and she wasn’t prepared to let him see her carelessly engage in a one-night-stand. She didn’t want him to have anything against her that she couldn’t still blame on her being young; she wasn’t stupid enough to give him that ammunition against her. She knew he had the gun, and it was aimed at her on a constant watch. All Thomas needed was the opportunity, she thought, all he needed was for her to be standing in exactly the right position, with exactly the right ammo against her, and he would blow her to smithereens. He didn’t need a perfect shot if she was honest; he was good at maliciously making the most of a situation.

 

But when she considered, all weekend, he hadn’t said anything malicious or remotely derogatory in her direction. He hadn’t actually said anything, but at least he wasn’t being straight up evil. It was progress, small, minute progress, but she was running with it, all the way back to Oxford in fact, and she would lock it away, and use it as her own ammunition against him when filming started.

 

But the men at the conference would have been so delicious, and she wouldn’t have had to see them again really, the opportunity would have been perfect, but he ruined it, again. First he tried to ruin her opportunity to assist the BBC, and now he was intruding on her personal life. Well, he hadn’t actually made any advances, but a man that gorgeous must be aware of his effect on women, he couldn’t be blind to how he was affecting her. Evie distinctly remembered coming up short on that thought, she used to find him gorgeous when she was what? Twelve?

 

When did she start finding him glorious once more, had she missed something? It had all been subtext, unspoken, but directly implied. The attraction had to have been palpable to other people, she had felt it, and she still didn’t understand if it was thrilling or whether she would rather stay living.

 

Tom had been talking animatedly with another woman. She had been all luscious curves, with luxurious long black hair, and achingly flawless white skin, as though someone had poured thick cream over a Grecian statue of Aphrodite, with her kind smile and eyes. She had been simply perfect, and Evie had been simply livid - for absolutely no reason. 

 

Evie’s skin wasn’t that achingly perfect, it was covered, head-to-toe in small freckles, and beneath was an olive complexion that got boring after a while - to Evie at least; But not to anyone else. Her chestnut curls, which fell to her mid back in long thick waves, was boring to her eyes, brown, why should it be interesting. It was glossy to others, but Evie just said it was a pain to find hairbands that didn’t slip off. Evie was the last person to remember quite how beautiful her features where, from her, admittedly non-existent chest, which in its imperfection, made her seem more human and therefore somehow more perfect, to her long, long legs, which went on for miles, all 122 cm of them, Evie hated. “You should see the import costs of jeans; I sometimes think I should walk round nude in protest.”  The gentleman in the research group she had voiced that rage-filled comment to, all made more than enthusiastic agreements to the suggestion of her coming into work with no clothes on.

 

 Evie had checked if the coffee hadn’t gone out of date, presuming that must have addled their brains; Allister had given them all an official warning.

 

Evie didn’t look in the mirror and see the small, straight, regal nose, the breath-taking almond eyes, the colour of rare emeralds, nor did she take note of the mouth that got people talking of the gods sculpting human faces, small and perfectly shaped, the lower lip being slightly over plump in comparison to its upper companion. She didn’t realize how many men wished to part those companions, or other pairs of hers either.   No, all Evie saw was the infuriating V her hairline formed. In short, she was a hopeless case.

 

She had burnt holes into the back of Tom’s head as he poured no doubt beautiful lyricism from one of his favourite Greek texts in the other woman’s ear. He had looked agitated the minute she started doing it. She could tell from the way the muscles in his broad shoulders had bunched and held every time she was particularly piercing in her gaze.  He had eventually stopped whispering in the woman’s ear, and looked straight up and across the room to her. She had made the smallest eye contact with him, but it was enough to send her running. It was filled with a heat and passion Evie had never seen from him before, it fired her blood, and shot adrenaline through her bones. She wasn’t sure where she wanted to run though, whether it was to his arms, or as far away from him as possible. She looked away quickly as her thoughts raged, but she soon felt the gaze burn into her own back, and turned to look up and saw him stalking across the room to her. Lead had solidified her body for the space of a few precious seconds, before she turned and quickly started making her way through the crowds towards the door.

 

Thomas had been livid with her. She had intruded on his thoughts, made concentrating impossible all weekend, and as soon as he had tried to find a vessel to channel his lust for her, she had stared at him with those captivating eyes, and forced him to look to her, to see her own heat filled gaze wash over him, and raise his heartrate to unhealthy heights.

He had excused himself as politely as his preoccupied mind could, and turned back to see her gaze was now fixed on the floor before his feet. Oh no she didn’t! She had dragged him into her web-like abyss, spun in a way that seemed perfectly crafted to ensnare him, and him alone,  and suck the blood out of him, only to pump him back to life with lust and devotion to her.  She wouldn’t be allowed to do that to him, and suddenly act innocent the minute he stood and looked at her in retaliation. Her effect in him had shortened his temper, and he wasn’t physically capable of playing her virginal games.

 

She was his! Or she would be once he was done with her, which would be never if he ever got his hands on her. He would bind her to him for eternity, if he could just get her in arms reach. He padded his way across the room to her, like a predator in darkest pursuit of its prey. He cared little for the other people in the room. He wasn’t playing to role of Tom Hiddleston the actor. This was him, without a mask or veil to conceal who he truly was. She had weathered the real him before and was still breathing, she could damn well survive him forever more, he would help concoct a perfectly good stress release strategy,  one they could both benefit from most pleasurably.

 

However, as he walked towards her, she started walking brusquely towards the doors. Damn her! He may care very little for what these people thought, but if he openly stormed out after her, it was likely leak into the papers, and then he would have Luke to deal with. He followed after her as surreptitiously as possible, and watched her fly off down the left corridor off the hall.

 

 

Evie walled as quickly as possible from the room, she wasn’t prepared to face his gaze head on, nor battle with its consequences. She had already removed her heals and was carrying them in her hands, her bare feet muted against the thick carpet of the hall. She turned to see him practically running after her in the corridor. It was just them, and she felt a distinct shiver run up her spine as she ran down the corridor, the thrill of being chased by a being as potently male as he was. She saw an escape from the chase as she turned a corner out of his sight. Three doors lined each side of each wall, and Evie knew the far one on the left was a broom cupboard. She had seen one of the cleaners remove a stash of cleaning products from there earlier. He wouldn’t know which one she was in, and two of the other doors led into vast rooms which he could spend hours searching through for her. 

 

She darted into the room and successfully locked the door behind her as Tom rounded the corner, the thick wooden doors; none of the six of them betrayed her secret to him. Unfaithful bastards, he thought, now she has me cursing doors, what is she doing to me? Tom heard his name being called from down the corridor from whence he came, following her, it sounded distinctly like Kenneth, and Tom turned from the corridor to return to the ceremony. Blast and confound her, she was sending him mad, and he was supposed to function through long weeks of shooting, practically taking orders from her whilst she told him exactly how the texts worked. Brilliant, he was going to end up needing a therapist by the end of this. Unless he could convince her how he felt, why he acted the way he did in their adolescence, if he could make her see, there way me a chance, but he could only hope for now. He would be visiting his father before he left back to London, and then onto shootings. Perhaps he should ask his father if he remembered much of the child she used to be.

 

Evie breathed a sigh out as she heard him walk away to the call of his name. She was too frazzled to consider of the sigh was in regret that he hadn’t found her, and done the unspeakable things to her his gaze had promised, or whether she was singing in relief. Perhaps she should consider this later, when her distorted sense of reality returned. She just hoped that normal would ever feel the same once she had finished this fiasco with the BBC.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you so much to anyone who has reviewed and followed, I really really really appreciate it, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave a review if you like it, or if you have any ideas, I would love to hear them. As always, disclaimer applies, so anything you don't recognize is likely mine.

Thirteen days after she left Edinburgh, Evie was walking into her bedroom of the house the BBC had rented out for the cast to stay in. It was an enormous manor house in the middle of Dartmoor national park, and it was the middle of winter. What was wrong with these people? They had sent the entire cast and crew to the Dartmoor National Park, where it rained notoriously anyway, and it was winter. What on earth did these people eat for breakfast, Medical Pills? If not, maybe they should consider seeing a psychiatrist – they had to be mad. It was the only logical explanation. 

Sighing begrudgingly, Evie placed her bags on the bed and examined the room. It was large with a high ceiling, characteristic of most of the old houses built in the Georgian period. It had two large windows to the left of the door, facing the bed, so that when she woke up in the mornings, she would be able to look out over the well-manicured gardens, and out onto the misty moors beyond. With that thought, she was reminded that she would not wake up at a time when you could see out the window – no - she was going to have to wake up at the crack of dawn, before the rooster even knew the day was nigh, and head 10 miles down the road to the lake that was supposed to pose as a loch for the Scottish setting. God, she hated winter. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Christmas was the best time of the year, seeing friends, and possibly family, if hers’ were around, and presents too. Not to mention all that wonderful Christmas chocolate. 

The bed looked enormous, it seemed big enough for ten Tom-sized men to fit in and the…where had that thought come from? Why would Tom be the first man that came to mind, when thinking of the general sex in itself? He shouldn’t be a thought in her head at all. It was just because he was one of the few men she knew whose height could seem to dwarf her, thereby meaning he was a large man. That was all - nothing more. 

If she couldn’t even look at her bed without thinking about him, maybe she should go and find a drink. She knew the rest of the cast and crew were all downstairs in the kitchen, seeing as it was lunchtime, even if Evie wasn’t hungry, she would kill for a herbal tea. Something to soothe her nerves would be wonderful, and then after she had talked with Ken, she could peruse the extensive library she had seen on her way in, and pick a nice thick tomb to devour. Her day was sorted, until dinner was served, but she knew she would have to socialize then. She couldn’t do her job if no-one liked her, or even knew who she was. It was necessary people trust her, so they asked her any questions they had, or her job would be obsolete. Apart from all that, she was just as excited as she was nervous. 

She had spent so much time with her nose in her book, for goodness sake, that was practically her job description, which she only recently realized was why she had felt so eager all these years to travel with Allister to the Conference in Scotland. She missed genuine human interaction, there were fantastic meetings to be found in books, yes, but actually interacting with people was a whole separate concept. A part of her brain was niggling to be used, waiting to be exercised, begging for stimulation, that part of her which craved meeting new people, discovering real life people for what they were. It felt like a release to be given this opportunity. Her job was social, but only with those people in her field and heaven knew she hadn’t had a decent conversation about something other than bloody Shakespeare and where he stuck his penis for the last six months. She needed a refreshing conversational topic – and bloody well soon. 

She picked out her phone from her tan coloured handbag, before heading downstairs to make herself a cup of tea. 

ΩΩΩ

Tom stared out of the window in the library. He could hear the voices of the other cast and crew members through the house. He could smell the comfort of musty old books. He could feel the dust settle on his skin. He could taste the anticipation on his tongue.   
He had managed to extract himself from the throng of people milling about the kitchen and the living area attached to it by design alone.   
When he had entered the room earlier on in the morning, he had searched instantly for her. It was nauseating even to him; he was acting like some love-sick, horny teenage boy. Maybe he was, when it came to Evie. She had left his life so abruptly, when he was so young, in reality, that he hadn’t been able to mature himself around her, his feelings for her were stuck in that very same place when she had abandoned him, when she had left him for dust. She had made him giddy the last time he saw her. The weekend had felt like torture, his very senses had heightened, stretching out, extending, to find her own, to consume her senses, and just know she was there.   
The most frustrating part was that he had no control over his reaction to her. No way of halting this idiocy. He was a grown man for Christ sake, he should be in complete control of himself, and he had done ever since his father had left. He had sworn never to leave himself open to such vulnerability again. But here he was, doing it to himself. He let out a sigh to cut off his thoughts, and returned to what he had been doing.   
Oh yes, listening out for when she would make an appearance.   
He knew she was here.  
He could see her sleek, black, BMW in one of the parking spaces on the cream gravel driveway. He knew she must still be in her room. He couldn’t hear her voice floating down the hallway and into the library. He knew she would come down and mingle at some point, she had no choice. 

Just as his thoughts were about to slip away again, he heard the light footsteps approaching the library. One must walk past the library doors to reach the kitchen from the stairway leading up to the higher floors. He listened more carefully to the footsteps, and judged the length of the stride; long, very long, just like hers. The footsteps were light, just like hers. She had done ballet for as long as he could remember, still did, if Emma had told him correctly, it was supposedly her ‘stress release’ that along with running. What on earth did she do that was so stressful? It’s not like reading books for a living was exactly taxing, was it?   
He could certainly think of a way to help her release stress, whatever the cause.  
No, he couldn’t think like that. It was wrong. He chastised himself as the footsteps grew nearer.   
He turned to look at her as she walked past.  
His breath caught.  
God, she was beautiful.  
Tall, almost painfully lean, and graceful as a swan. She was sure to make some enemies on set if she wasn’t careful, jealous women were a malicious breed of their own, he should know, he had a few in his past.   
Again, a topic he shouldn’t be thinking about.  
He looked back up at her, just to catch a final glimpse. She was wearing khaki brown cropped slim trousers, black ballet pumps, light grey cashmere crew neck jumper and a heritage check scarf. Composed, mature and very Evie. Her skin glowed, even in the grey light that filtered down the corridor from the enormously light hallway, where one entered the sprawling house.   
Her skin was still covered in dark freckles, and her olive skin tone which wasn’t covered, was beautiful and flawless. Her features, from what he made out from the quick glance, were relaxed, her green eyes glittering; her wavy chestnut locks, falling in thick, glossy curls down her back. She seemed untouchable, ethereal, yet there was a fallen aura to her. She wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young anymore, not by the standards he was used to anyway. In his world, young was aged eighteen to twenty five, for a woman anyway, men seemed immune to the ravages of time in Hollywood, yet women, in the media’s eyes anyway, always seemed to age and fade. At nearly twenty nine years old, Evie was too old to be beautiful, yet too young to be timeless. Maybe she was just within his reach. 

He heard her greeting Ken as she entered the kitchen, and immediately honed in his senses when he heard Kenneth mention his name to her. He was being talked about, what a perfect time to make an entrance. 

ΩΩΩ

Evie walked into the kitchen, to be greeted by the wafting scent of lunch, some light bites of cocktail sausages and what seemed to be a selection of other party food. She walked over to the where the kettle sat on the counter, and considered the electric sparks that had shot through her, down her spine, heated her nerve endings, as she walked past the library on her way down. She loved the library, always felt some semblance of joy as she walked past any library, but this had been different. It was pleasurable and enticing, it made her feel almost heady and addicted. And she didn’t even know where it came from. 

It was the pleasurable essence of being watched with a loving gaze, a heated gaze, a wanting gaze. She felt butterflies in her abdomen, as though an entire fleet was trapped and tickling the lining of her tummy. She loved the slight excitement, she felt its subtle presence when opening a new book, but this was more exotic, and it scared her how much one look had made her feel. She would have to go asking around, to see who was missing, who could have been at the library at the exact moment she walked past. 

With her back turned, she couldn’t see Kenneth approach, and so jumped slightly when he felt his hand on her back and turned to see his smiling face.   
“Oh, hello, you made me jump. How are you?” She asked, leaning over to kiss both his cheeks, as she knew was polite – her mother had made sure of that.  
“I am very well, I am so glad you came, God, we have been overrun with people who just want to know the most meaningless shit. Honestly Evie, you feel like a God send. However, judging by the things people want to know, this may turn out to be a slightly peculiar experience. I know what I was going to ask, have you seen Tom? He’s gone off somewhere, and I don’t really want to summon a search party. The resulting bun fight to find him from the ladies may start world war three.”   
Evie stopped short, plastering a beaming smile on her face as quickly as was physically possible, just to hide her horror. It had been Tom in the library, there couldn’t be anyone else, could there? Fait wouldn’t allow for such a coincidence. The gods were against her, she was sure. Of all the people who could give her such rushing excitement from one single stare, it had to be him. She should have known.   
A looming presence behind them threw her off balance, however, stopping short her exasperated thoughts, causing the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, sparking a tingling in her stomach. The kettle whistled as Evie turned to saw Thomas. It could be no one else. Only he had ever done this to her; made her giddy like a school girl. 

She remembered him chasing her down the corridor at Glamis, no matter how she had felt at the time; all she remembered was the tingling excitement that washed over her every time she remembered it. The thrill of the chase she supposed. She couldn’t disregard the adolescent years, the tumultuous past they shared, but she was willing to try and understand why he did it, why he treated her in such a way. She wasn’t prepared to do the whole forgive and forget thing, but there had to be a reason. Surely? This kind of ‘chemistry’ had never happened to her before; she didn’t want to throw it away. It was too exciting, thrilling, and she was so tired of her boring life. She was prepared to start anew, and if that started with facing Tom, then so be it. He had been a tyrant in her minds’ eye for so long. Perhaps she could shift her perspective, perhaps she should try. 

She looked up into Toms face, his eyes glittered with amusement, she could see he had been waiting for the opportune moment, knew all attention would be focused on him now, she could feel her desire to understand him evaporate. His mouth may be set in a straight, perfect line, but his intentions weren’t. The arrogant sod - he was good, he had learnt how to manipulate a situation to his wants. It infuriated Evie, he had waited, not wanting to join them until he knew he would be the centre of attention, knowing he could easily steal all the interest of the conversation, twist it, adjust it to suit him. His arrogant control, his assumption that he could just swagger in and steal the show incensed her, just as it had when he had dared her to come along to this whole fiasco anyway. Knowing he could infuriate her so quickly, so easily, infuriated her even more. She had to control this vicious circle, and fast. 

“Hello Evangeline.”  
“Hello Thomas.”  
The way he had said her name, her entire name, leaving nothing half done, sent a warm shiver down her spine. He may enrage her, but she knew, if he set his wicked charms to it, he could melt her like butter. She had seen him do it.

She had been fifteen when she had first seen the endless charm of Thomas Hiddleston put to work. Emma had recently acquired new next door neighbours, and low and behold, the daughter of the family had been the most beautiful creature either Emma or Evie had ever seen, and Tom wasn’t excluded from that circle either. He had ‘clocked’ her almost immediately. He was on an ego high at this point, he was getting firsts in everything at University; he was young, free and single. And he had an ego the size of an elephant…brilliant. His recent ascension into the rugby team had made his shoulders fill out. His bonny boyishness had vanished, and he had picked up his first TV role not three weeks earlier.   
This creature that effortlessly captured the attention of Evie, Emma and especially Tom was tall, slender and beautifully proportioned - in everything. From her slight waist, to her gently curving hips, to her full high breasts, her large, almond shaped cornflower blue eyes and thick, swirling locks of pure gold hair. To top everything off, she was the nicest woman you could ever hope to meet. Charismatic, outgoing, full of love, life and vibrancy. When she entered a room, she was the magnetic centre of everything, and she could hold a conversation flawlessly, effortlessly entertaining, with a wonderful sense of humour, she was funny without being mean. Emily was female Jesus, Emma and Evie hadn’t needed scientific evidence to be sure.  
So of course, Thomas had set to work wooing her, making her feel beautiful, special, treasured. Tom only had to be honest though; he wasn’t even lying or leading her on. Everything he had ever told her was genuine, but he phrased it as though he was Ovid. It was in the summer, when they had been invited round for dinner, that the true extents of his powers were revealed. Evie was staying with Diana at this point, as it was just Tom and Emma at home, Sarah being jet set off on her university course, or on holiday with her friends.   
The neighbours had a pool, and as the evening had grown later, it had shifted so that Diana and Emily’s parents were at Tom’s house, whilst the four of them had been left at Emily’s house.   
Tom had suggested a swim, as it was one of the warmest evenings of the year, and perfect for a dip in the pool, Emily had jumped for joy, it was obvious something was going on between the two of them. She was a twenty year old home from university, looking for a summer fling, and Tom was in exactly the same position, why wouldn’t they hit it off?   
As the pair took off their clothes just down to their underwear and dived in, Tom had turned a menacing glance towards Emma and Evie, warding them off, should they dare to even think about joining him and Emily, the offer clearly wasn’t meant to have been extended.   
Taking the hint, Evie and Emma ran off inside, pretending they weren’t going to spy on Tom. If he was up to no good, surely it was a sisters and almost-sister’s job to discover what he was up to? No?   
They ran up to one of the back bedrooms, and looked out the window to watch what the pair was doing. The pool was hidden from both adjacent houses by a thick hedge, so Tom and Emily wouldn’t be caught in flagrante delicto.  
Low and behold, an hour later, after the pair in the pool had divested each other of their remaining clothes, Toms’ hard efforts at charming Emily had paid off. In the pool. With Evie and Emma hiding at the other end of the house to hear as little of it as possible. They had run away from their viewpoint almost as soon as the rest of the clothes had come off and the kissing had started. The rest was quite self-explanatory, with the moaning and splashing coming from that particular area of the garden. 

If Evie had learnt anything, it was that Thomas could certainly charm the panties off anyone, literally, if he put his mind to it. Needless to say, Emily was now married to an accountant and spent half the year in their Venetian villa, and the other half on the country estate he owned somewhere in Berkshire. To think that was the kind of girl Thomas could get his hands on, was a demoralizing thought to Evie. 

She looked up at him, realizing with startling clarity that he must have not only been the one in the library, but he was also the one who gave her such a heated look. Evie wasn’t so sure now if that look had been of heated hate or heated arousal. There was no one else it could have been. If Kenneth was about to send out a search party and Tom just happened to know she was here now, looking at her with a gaze that elicited the same reaction in her traitorous body, Evie knew it had to be him. His stare was roaring through her like a forest fire in a summer drought. She knew she had to be careful, she wouldn’t be pathetic enough to completely lose her head over him, yet she could make a good headway in settling these rocky waters that floated between them, surely?  
“I am so delighted you made it, I thought you would back out last minute.” He reached out and picked up her hand, kissing her knuckles whilst staring straight into her eyes, daring her to reprimand him, when they both knew she wouldn’t, smirking at her all the while.  
Kenneth wisely said, “I need to talk to you Tom, but we can catch up later.” And fled the scene as quickly as possible, tearing through clusters of people to go and talk with the assistant director in the next room.   
Tom smiled after him, watching him retreat, and then turned his attention back to her. His gaze made her catch her breath, made her insides muddle and squirm. His gesture had completely thrown her, his flirtatious comment; combined with his physical gesture of greeting had been a potent mixture that shouldn’t be legal. His feathery goatee and beard had brushed against the silky soft skin of her hands, the bristly coarseness opposing the smooth finesse of the gesture in a way that sent rampant sparks rocketing up her arm and through her body. His rugged facial hair and his new, far more muscular build giving him a wholly masculine and dominating presence which she couldn’t ever recall him ever having before. What was this man doing to her?

ΩΩΩ

Tom lifted his head from her hand, watching her expression change to that of a frightened doe, then heat up, exactly as he had wanted it to. His own blood fired and scorched through his veins as he watched her brain work, looked into her eyes and saw his own fire reflected there. Her hand was so delicate, long slender fingers tensed gently around his own, clinging to him for support, he doubted she knew she had done that, but he stored it away, that little reaction from her, he would keep it safe, cherish it, as he hoped to do the rest of her one day.   
The softness of her skin made his groin clench, he hadn’t even touched an intimate piece of skin, and already he was randy as a bull in rut. He had to get this fever under control, had to manage this toxic desire. He couldn’t just throw himself at her, could he? However much the idea of having her stretched out beneath him on the kitchen counter, moaning and panting and wet, nude in her natural glory, excited him, he had to guide her in that direction, make her understand that she wanted it to. He could feel her own need pulse under her skin, could feel how her pulse had fluttered through the ends of her fingertips. He was sure she didn’t yet understand her reaction, but he was damned if she didn’t understand it bloody well by the time shooting was over. She didn’t know it yet, but he was going to make bloody well sure the next few weeks were the best of her life, in bed and out of it. He had spent twenty four years almost head-over-heels for her, it was about damned time he did something about it. 

ΩΩΩ

Evie turned back to the kettle quickly, making sure she had put in the correct teabag, before pouring the water into the mug, watching the colour diffuse from the tea bag, reminding her of how her own feelings of desire were fusing out from the few meetings she had shared in the past two weeks with Tom. She hadn’t meant to start wanting him, he hadn’t even been charming. It had just ignited, flashing into a raging fire, simmering just beneath her cool surface. There, in that moment, she had realized quite how much she wanted him. It might have always been there, the passion had anyway. If she could hate him, then she could desire him too. And she had spent a long time hating him. For the way he humiliated her, yes. That hate was obviously something she needed to work on. She picked up the mug, and turned back to Tom, the tension in her back from his stare begging for some sort of release. She looked up to see him watching her with a heated stare, he was standing so close, she could smell him if she wanted to. The silence between them strung out, tense, and one of them would have to say something. So Evie spoke up, in a small voice, betraying how fragile her control over her emotions was, and “I suppose I will see you at dinner.”   
“Yes, you will.” He said in a tone that was blatantly suggestive, but of what she couldn’t quite see.   
“Only if I want you to.” Two could play at this game Thomas.  
“Oh believe me Evie, if I wanted to, I could make sure there was no place you could hide.” Clearly Thomas had taken the bait… how delightful.  
“We’ll see, I know your blind spots, they are generally concerned in honesty and honour.”  
“The man who played fair, never got anywhere.”  
“And where are you going Thomas?”  
“Exactly where I want to.”  
“And where is that?”  
“I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”  
“Time waits for no man, and neither does a sensible woman.”  
“Oh is that what you call yourself these days, a sensible woman?”  
“Well, I am certainly more sensible than you.”  
“How so, dear Evie, do enlighten me.”  
“No sensible man ever engages, unprepared, in a fencing match of words with a woman.”  
“Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for Kissing, lady, not for such contempt.”  
“A lady, as you call me, kisses only a gentleman, for he is the only one worthy, and yet I see no gentleman here, so I have no worthy lips to kiss.”  
“A lady in gender only my love, you are a shrew in mannerisms I must say!”  
“Shrewish only to you, all others think me an angel.”  
“ A fallen angel for sure, no heaven sent being has a tongue like yours.”  
“Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.”  
“I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed.”  
“I don’t need arming when there is no worthy opponent of battle.”  
She didn’t wait for his reaction, she turned away and walked straight out of the door she came through, cup of tea in hand and her visit to the library in sights. She didn’t want to socialize with him around, she didn’t understand their relationship anymore, and she hated not understanding. It made her unstable, unsure, she couldn’t secure herself on steady feet if she didn’t know where she stood. It was all a confusing game, and the stakes seemed to be rising with the tension between them. She still had to attend dinner, and everyone would be there, everyone would see the tension, and there was nothing she could do about it. The entire situation exasperated her. 

Dinner was going to be a formal affair. The owners of the house, though they didn’t live in it, still wanted the opportunity to welcome their guests over dinner. Evie was dreading it, or at least she thought she should be, but when she dared to glance back over her shoulder at Thomas, seeing his heated gaze following her out the door, watching her retreat, she wasn’t so sure that feeling in her abdomen was dread at all. She had a feeling it was something she should be a lot more scared of.

ΩΩΩ

Thomas was the first man who had excited her in a long time, and yet due to self-respect, and quite frankly, blatant fear, she knew she could never have him. Evie stood up from the small chair in the corner of her designated bedroom, and looked out the window, into the now dark sky. Having had her fill of the clear starry night, she turned around, and padded softly to where the bedside table was, having taken off her shoes so she could sink her toes into the luxurious, thick carpet. She flicked off the lamp, and left the room shrouded in darkness, except for the light coming in through the window from the moon and the stars. It was surprisingly clear that night, and the full moon beamed bright, thick rays of faint, yet stark light into the room. She loved the view out of her window. She could see where the edge of the lightly trimmed garden melted into the wild, untamed moors. The contrast was blunt and beautiful. Normally, the view of any smooth countryside would calm her, soothe her. But not now. She had an hour before she had to go down for the meal. It started at eight o’clock, so being slightly early wouldn’t hurt. At six forty five, she knew she could spare a few moments to gather her thoughts. When she got bored of simply going over and over the meeting today with Thomas, analyzing every detail, expression, gesture and word, as she would one of her texts – with ruthless efficiency- she drew the first set of curtains across the two wide windows. They were sheer viol curtains, in a pale shade of grey. They didn’t obscure the view out in this light, but they did stop anyone from being able to see in. Not that anyone could from the height of the bedroom window, but the thought was there. The second set was a heavy dark grey velvet material, supposed to keep in the heat in the vast room, and to block out light in the mornings.   
She turned to walk over to the door, her long stride effortlessly regal and elegant. She checked the door was locked, and seeing that it was, headed over to the bathroom that led off the bedroom. It was modern, a new bathroom in an old house, it added a sense of luxury that she adored almost immediately. There was no window, ensuring absolute privacy once the bathroom door was locked. There was a double sink unit along one wall, and the entire wall, above the white granite surface of the sinks, was covered in a mirror. A constant flow of reflection; seamless modernization.   
An enormous shower was on the opposite side, the glass panel allowing you to see yourself as you showered, if you so desired. It could fit four people along its width, and probably six or seven along it length, more than enough room for Evie to enjoy a nice long shower, to relax her tense muscles and mind.   
Leaving the light on in the bathroom, she turned out and navigated her way around the bedroom with just the light of the bathroom spilling out to guide her. She removed her clothes carefully, taking care to place each item neatly in either a wash basket which could be used in the washroom of the house, which had a number of washing machines free for use at any time, to be operated by anyone, or to be hung up in the walk in wardrobe provided. She would be staying here for longer than originally anticipated. In effect, they were making the movie of Macbeth, which would just be longer, and shown as a series, not a film. Therefore, she had packed for three months. But she was a woman; she was bound to buy more clothes, a bigger coat especially, if the weather changed.   
Naked, she walked back to the bathroom, already anticipating the water rushing over her exhausted body.  
As she turned the shower on and waited for the water to heat through the nozzle, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She pulled the few pins holding back certain wisps of hair from her face, and let the entirety of her hair fall in waves around her shoulders, and cascade down her back. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes, evidence that she hadn’t been sleeping well. She was bone tired, and it showed. However, the edginess coursing through her now had very little to do with how tired she was.   
She ran her hands over the protrusion of her hip bones, the indentations of her ribs, and further down to skim lightly over the side of her hips. She wasn’t especially feminine; in fact her figure wasn’t at all feminine. Her small breasts, firm though they were, did not pronounce her a woman, as they were supposed to, they weren’t large enough to say a word, let alone call out a statement of her femininity. Her nipples peaked at the touch of her own soft fingertips, and she realized with mortification, that she had gone far too long without enjoying a man. Evie wouldn’t call herself lascivious, but she certainly enjoyed a man’s company in bed.   
She thought longingly about the few relationships she had had, and realized she was pining for another one. She had never ended a relationship well; her first boyfriend from university had cheated with the girl whose dormitory was next door to her own. Not awkward at all. Boyfriend number two had joined the royal marines and broken it off because he fell in love with one of his fellow marines. It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help falling in love, but it didn’t do much for her self-confidence either.   
Her thoughts turned to the more sexual aspects of those relationships. Boyfriend number one had been young and inexperienced, but oh so willing if she called. Boyfriend number two had been incredible, the best sex of her life kind of incredible, but then she only had two men to take experience from.   
She thought what he would be like in bed, he had filled out hugely, gone was the boyish charm, and in its place was a dark dominance, a man hardened by a malicious industry. He had hardened both physically and mentally, and this new man was turning her insides into hot treacle. Thick and syrupy, her will sluggish in the face of her desire. She wondered if he preferred to go fast or slow when he fucked, if he liked to torture with pleasure, or plough himself into his partners with the vigour of the gods. The idea of him taking her roughly caused a moan to rise in her throat, him pounding into her, against a wall, on a bed, on the floor, on the kitchen worktop; she didn’t care, but each idea that flew threw her brain made her want it all the more. She could feel a physical trembling at the mere thought. A moan rose in her throat, it was soft at first, but then she imagined him going oh so slowly, drawing out there pleasure, making her squeal. Her moaning grew louder, and she realized her hand was still rolling over her hypersensitive skin.   
Oh gods, she was sensitive tonight, every nerve in her body on alert. And all because of him.  
She realized that all she could make out in the mirror now was the startling emerald of her eyes, she must have parched half of Africa by now. And to top it all off, she had to spend the evening having dinner with him.  
“Damn!”  
She stepped into the scolding water, mortified at her own thoughts, and reprimanding herself. She had to get a grip, and fast – she only had forty five minutes left to get ready. 

ΩΩΩ

Tom stalked the floor of his third-floor bedroom in the grand, sprawling house. He never paced, he didn’t see the point in wearing down a perfectly good carpet, but today he was restless, couldn’t seem to settle anywhere. There was plenty for him to be doing, but focusing was impossible. He had grown restless in general recently though. His art was his world, as any actor would say, but that world felt incomplete. He had tried to travel around Europe, the States, even parts of Africa, but nothing inspired him, nothing seemed to settle as his muse. He wanted a woman, he had known that much for a long time, but he hadn’t met a woman in a long time who challenged him, who made him think. They had all become transparent, easy. Too easy to figure out. Too easy to get into his bed. And they all wanted the same thing, one night maybe more, and if they thought they were lucky, they tried to wring a relationship out of him. To say he had had enough would be an understatement. The understatement of his life quite frankly. 

Yet now, she had sent all of that control he had gained spiraling out of control.

He walked over to the night stand and picked up the script. Normally a script spoke to him, stirred something inside him, that’s how he knew which roles where for him, but this one had been different. He didn’t know why, for god’s sake, he had read Macbeth so many times, but this time, something seemed different, as though he would be making the mistake of his life if he let this role slip away. He’d had to have it.   
And now he was having the same feelings about young lady Evangeline who was staying on an adjacent corridor to his, on the same floor as him, not far away.  
Young Lady. He didn’t think so. He was pretty sure he wasn’t wrong either. More like nymph, witch or enchantress. But he had to admit that the magnetic pull he felt for this woman may have obscured his thinking – quite severely.   
He knew innately of the strength in her delicate frame, in the heated emerald in her eyes. Lord, she was beautiful. He couldn’t recall being this attracted to a woman in his entire life.   
He’d been wound up tight ever since this morning, ever since he saw that goddamn fire in her eyes, Evie’s eyes could kill a man, he was sure of it. He’d tried reading all afternoon, but he had been distracted the entire time. His confrontation with her had been so fleeting, before she left. Not only had she left the room, she’d also left him with the impression of her beautiful, regal face imprinted on his mind.   
She had always lurked in the back of his mind, her image was always there. Secretly, he compared all women to her, and he had found all of them lacking. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, least of all himself, but it didn’t stop it being the truth. It was infuriating that without even being in his presence, being absent from his life for over a decade, she had always had that hold on him, and now, she was real, more than an idea, but a tangible being he could feel, touch, hear, see, smell and taste. And good lord, did he want to taste her. All of her, everywhere it was olive, everywhere it was pink, and bloody well everywhere else. He hadn’t even tried to fight that fact he wanted her. 

His thoughts became heated, and his body temperature rose with it. He stripped off his clothes and stormed to the shower. Bloody infuriating woman. He wanted to hear her scream, squeal and moan, and he wanted his cock to be the thing causing it.  
Her writhing body seared his thoughts, her breathless gasps as he pounded into her, the velvet vice of her clamping down on him as he drove home, their fast paced fucking bringing them both to the climax of their lives. He wanted her long legs wrapped around his hips, his back, as he slowly tortured her with his throbbing manhood, drawing out their love play to unbearable reaches, heightening their pleasure with every stoke, until every small movement made her whimper and writhe. His tongue thrusting into her mouth, feeling the vibrations of her moans.   
All the blood in his body had rushed down there. It was beyond bearable, but he refused to relieve himself. He wouldn’t admit that he wanted her that badly in such a way.   
Just because his rod wanted her, didn’t mean he did.   
Instantly he knew that was a lie. He had always wanted her; he had driven her off because he was scared of how much he wanted her. It hadn’t changed, and he knew, deep down, it never would.   
He groaned at his own thoughts, this had to stop.  
He was going to be late if he didn’t get ready soon. He just didn’t know how long he was going to be able to keep his hands off her, and he had to last the whole evening.  
“Bloody brilliant.”  
He uttered a single phrase in resentment as he thought of the evening ahead, the long hours he had to spend being polite to her and others when he could think of far better things the pair of them could be doing on the table, and he would still be feasting.


End file.
